


It's a rush inside I can't control

by StrikerEureka



Series: Loved you from the start [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Coming In Pants, Developing Relationship, Dry Humping, Fluff, Implied Mpreg, Jealousy, Knotting, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Meet the Family, Mutual Pining, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-23 05:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9641717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrikerEureka/pseuds/StrikerEureka
Summary: Otabek is coming to terms with what he is and what he wants out of his relationship with Yuri. Yuri is simply trying to be patient. Yuri tells his grandfather, Otabek tells his mother, and they make plans to spend the summer together.“I’ve got to go,” Otabek tells him. Not for the first time does Yuri think it’d be all right if he missed his flight. He bites the thought back and he nods. “I’ll call you.”“FaceTime,” Yuri says.Otabek inclines his head and takes his face in both hands. The kiss against his mouth is sweet and chaste and not nearly what he wants; the kiss against his forehead lingers a bit longer. And then Otabek is waving at Katsuki and Viktor and walking away from him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [umakoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo/gifts).



> I still don't know anything about figure skating. Let me know if anything needs to be tagged. Rating will increase next chapter.
> 
> This one's for you, Noora ( ˘ ³˘)❤ You're incredible and this wouldn't exist without your cheerleading. I thank you and I adore you.

Yuri settles into the long flight back to St. Petersburg with a silver medal around his neck, tucked under his hoodie, the metal of it warmed from his chest. He pushes up the armrest between their seats and leans against Otabek’s shoulders. His ankle hurts from a botched landing that probably cost him gold, and he’s still reeling a bit from being told he’s quarter of an inch taller than he was at the GPF. 

He hopes he’s not growing. His short stature and slim figure have been the only omega traits he’s found to be to his advantage, across the board. He doesn’t want one final growth spurt. He wants to stay where he is, able to tuck himself up under Otabek’s chin, if he slouches enough. He wants to be able to land his fucking jumps and work his body the way he’s always known how.

Otabek puts his arm around Yuri’s shoulders and threads his fingers into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. Otabek hadn’t medaled but he doesn’t seem disappointed by it. He’d been overjoyed at Yuri’s win, pulling him into the restroom, behind the scenes, and kissing him soundly on the mouth. 

Viktor had walked in (followed them; he’s sure it hadn’t been a coincidence) and interrupted what had the promise of being a much, much better kiss. Viktor had requested a moment alone with Otabek but Yuri had stubbornly pulled him along as he’d left, listening to Otabek promise him they’d speak later. He doesn’t even want to know what Viktor is planning on saying. Some sort of white knight, noble, protective bullshit, he’s sure. 

He shifts closer to Otabek, turning toward him and stretching out his legs. He winces at the burn in his ankle. 

“All right?” Otabek asks quietly. 

Yuri nods. “Just needs ice.”

“I’ll ask for some.” Yuri shakes his head but he knows that Otabek will do it anyway. It is a long flight back to Russia, he reminds himself; if he waits that long to ice it, again, he’ll regret it.

“Thanks,” he says after Otabek flags down a flight attendant and asks in his beautifully accented English for ice. He rests his leg over Otabek’s before she returns, marking his territory in a way that makes him feel both immature and smug. Otabek doesn’t seem to mind, though, resting a heavy, warm hand on his knee.

They’ve flown business class, so there is a bit more room to spread out, when Otabek gestures him back against the window and brings his feet up to rest in his lap. Otabek unlaces his shoes and takes them off, tucking them under the seat in front of him, and holds the ice pack against his ankle. 

It’s more bruised now than it was when they’d arrived at Logan Airport a couple of hours ago, and the altitude hasn’t done any favors for the swelling.

“You’ll have to get this looked at,” Otabek says, unnecessarily. 

“I will,” he grumbles.

Yuri tries to make himself comfortable against the window, tucking the pillow he’d brought with him from home behind his head. Across the aisle, he can see Viktor looking at the two of them. He’s got his fingers folded together with Katsuki’s; he looks away when the other Yuuri tugs at his hand.

“Try to rest,” Otabek tells him.

Yuri’s eyelids feel heavier with each passing moment. He’s exhausted from the competition, jetlagged from all of the flights he’s taken over the past week, and on the verge of becoming very, very cranky. He wants to stay awake, however, because he knows that once their flight lands in St. Petersburg, that Otabek will go on to Kazakhstan without him and he’ll be alone again. He doesn’t want to give up these final hours with him, just so that he can sleep a little bit. Otabek taking care of him is doing something for the quiet omega part of him that he tramps down so often too, making him feel content and safe. It’s not helping him to stay awake.

He forces his eyes open further and shifts his position, making himself a bit more uncomfortable on purpose. The frown on Otabek’s mouth says he knows exactly what Yuri is doing. His fingers creep up under Yuri’s pant leg and wrap around his uninjured ankle, thumb brushing the prominent bone there. 

Otabek shatters his illusion of peace when he speaks. “I’ll see you soon,” he says quietly.

Yuri stares at him, suddenly feeling too far away, despite their proximity. He draws his legs down and moves, leaning into Otabek once again.

“Yura, your ankle,” Otabek protests. 

“Shut up,” Yuri grumbles, taking Otabek’s arm and pulling it around his shoulders. _Just hold me_ , he wants to say. This is all still so new to the both of them. Otabek is still less than a week off of his rut and Yuri knows that things are tentative, uncharted, and he’s afraid that if he prods at it too hard, it’ll all come undone.

He scrubs at his nose with the back of his hand and brings his feet up onto his mostly vacated seat, resettling the ice pack back over his ankle. 

Otabek’s hand rests against his chest as Yuri presses his cheek over Otabek’s heart to listen to it beat. He doesn’t want to let him go home. He’d follow him, right back to Almaty, and take up residence in his bed again, if he didn’t know he had to go home. Grandpa is starting to get suspicious about how important Otabek has become in such a short period of time. Yuri knows he won’t be able to hide this much longer, and then things will change again, he’s afraid. Grandpa won’t want him going off alone to spend weeks with an alpha. 

He thinks he can convince Grandpa to give Otabek a chance, but he knows that passing him off as just his friend won’t work. Yet another thing that would have been easier if one or both of them had been betas. 

Otabek flicks his ear. “Stop thinking and rest.”

“I don’t want you to go back,” Yuri tells him quietly, murmuring it into his chest. He hopes no one else can hear them, especially not Viktor’s nosy ass. 

Otabek sighs. “We’re going to be all right, Yura,” he says, sounding so absolutely sure of his own words that Yuri aches to believe it. He doesn’t, though, not yet. He won’t until he knows that Otabek isn’t going to run from this once he really has time to deal with what he is and what it means for the two of them. 

Being an eligible, attractive, young alpha with talent like Otabek’s will ensure that he has no shortage of interested prospects. Older ones, ones who don’t have knobby knees and scarred feet, potential mates who can offer him experienced sex, and children, and who don’t hog his bed and bite his head off when he wakes them in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom.

He pinches his eyes shut and tries to regulate his breathing. He doesn’t want to think about this, he just wants to keep Otabek with him while he works through everything in his head. He doesn’t know what his future has in store, aside from the next competition on the horizon, but he knows that he can’t picture it any longer without Otabek at his side.

Otabek’s other hand comes up to cup his neck and he rests his stubbled cheek against his forehead. 

“You didn’t shave,” Yuri says, wrinkling his nose against the prickly sensation on his skin.

Otabek brings his hand up to rub at his own jaw; Yuri can hear his palm scraping against the hair there. “Do you mind it?” he asks.

Yuri shrugs. He’d never seen Otabek with much facial hair before and he wonders if his new hormones have anything to do with it now. 

“Don’t like a beard but that’s fine.” He looks gorgeous but Yuri doesn’t want to say it. 

“I’ll check all of my facial hair with you first,” Otabek says, sliding his hand over Yuri’s thigh. He clamps them together to hold it there. 

“You better, if I’m the one who’s going to be seen with you.”

Otabek’s laugh is quiet and Yuri can hear it perfectly where his ear is pressed against his chest.

“In that case, I was thinking I might try a mohawk,” he says.

“I like the undercut.”

“You might like a mohawk, too.”

Yuri hums noncommittally. He realizes that he’s been distracted but he doesn’t mind so much. He’s comfortable and the throb in his ankle is starting to fade. Still…

“Don’t go,” he forces himself to ask. Being open doesn’t come naturally to him, but Otabek makes it easier to try. He doesn’t think he’ll get what he wants without asking. Otabek seems a little more determined than he is that they’ll do better working this out apart from one another; that the distance will be good for them. Give them clarity that their hormones won’t allow for otherwise. Yuri doesn’t see how putting a country’s worth of distance between them is going to help.

He’s done his part, he thinks. He’s been brave, been assertive and put himself out there, and been clear about what he ultimately wants. He doesn’t see why they can’t be close, in the meantime. Otabek is still his friend. 

Otabek doesn’t say anything. Yuri digs his elbow into his side. “You said we wouldn’t change.”

“We won’t. Stop that.” Yuri does, but he’s ready to do it again. 

“I just don’t see why you have to rush home. You could stay a bit.” 

Otabek sighs. “I’ll come see you. I promise. You told me you wanted to speak to your Grandfather; I can’t be there for that, Yuri. That’s… that has to be between the two of you. I can’t—if he doesn’t approve—“

“He’ll like you,” Yuri says. Given time, he thinks, his Grandpa will see that Otabek is good for him, will be good _to_ him. 

“He might not be willing to believe that I’m not taking you to bed,” Otabek practically whispers. “You’re young and I’m new to this, and we’re not the only two who will need to be eased into things. Nikiforov has made that clear.”

Yuri rolls his eyes. “It’s not his life.”

“He cares for you. And so does your Grandfather. Let’s take this slow, like we agreed. I’ll come after you speak to him. We can’t blindside him with this, Yura.” 

Yuri heaves a sigh. He knows that Otabek is right. He can’t just spring this on his Grandpa and expect him to understand that this new alpha has his best interests at heart. He wouldn’t believe it himself, if it were any other alpha but Otabek. Still, he hates it.

“Fine,” he mutters, sticking his hand between Otabek’s thighs to warm up his fingers. It’s not anything he wouldn’t have done before, so he tries to fight the heat that creeps up his neck at doing it now. 

Otabek just rests his cheek against Yuri’s forehead again and rubs his stubble against his skin until he laughs. 

“If I get stubble burn, it better be from a kiss,” he grumbles.

Otabek nudges his head back with his cheek and ducks down to bump their noses together. Yuri almost goes cross-eyed from looking at him so close up. He can read the question there, in the slight lift of Otabek’s brows, and he turns his head into the seat a bit so that Otabek can kiss him. It’s not nearly enough, doesn’t go on for long enough, doesn’t do anything but make his chest ache at how right it feels to have Otabek’s lips pressed damp and firm against his own.

He frees his hand from between Otabek’s thighs and lifts it to cup his neck. He doesn’t want him to pull away, even as the kiss ends and their foreheads stay pressed together. Otabek is concerned with Yuri’s age, but maybe for the first time, Yuri considers that Otabek is still fairly young himself. He’s considered their minor age gap plenty since practically the moment they met, but it’s possible he hasn’t been putting it into proper perspective. Otabek needs time and Yuri is going to try to give him that, though patience is far from his strong suit.

A throat clears loudly from across the aisle and Yuri leans around Otabek to glare at Viktor, holding up his middle finger at him. Viktor looks affronted.

Otabek gives him another quick kiss, and settles back into his seat. Yuri tucks his fingers back between his thighs and tries to decide what he’s going to say to his Grandpa.

 

\--

 

Saying goodbye to Otabek is difficult, even knowing that he’ll see him again soon. He lets Otabek sweep him up in a hug and hold him. Yuri knows that Otabek has a connecting flight to catch, and still, he clings. 

Yuri has never been a very tactile person before, and maybe it’s realizing how much he cares for certain people, or maybe it’s growing up, but he doesn’t care that people all around them are seeing this. He doesn’t want to let go of Otabek, even though he knows that he has to.

Otabek rests his chin on his shoulder for a moment and then presses a lingering kiss to his temple. Yuri lets himself be eased back, reluctantly. Otabek tucks his hair back behind his ears, then rights the collar on his Russian National Team jacket. 

His agitation must be evident on his face, because Otabek thumbs his bottom lip free from where he’s gnawing it between his teeth. People are rushing by the two of them, and Viktor and Katsuki, who he knows are waiting for him, out of hearing distance. He’ll have to show his appreciation to Katsudon later, for keeping Viktor at bay.

“I’ll talk to my Grandpa.” He tries to sound confident, even though he still hasn’t figured out what to say yet. He doesn’t even know how to start that conversation.

“Don’t rush for me, Yura,” Otabek tells him.

Yuri kind of wants to kick him in the shin. “I want you back here,” he says stubbornly.

Otabek smiles and Yuri’s breath catches a little in his chest at the way it makes his eyes squint.

“Don’t know how I’ll sleep without you taking up half of my bed and stealing the blankets.” That smile is still on Otabek’s face.

Yuri huffs, glancing down between them. He’s running out of time, probably using a bit of borrowed time, if he’s honest, but he still can’t make himself turn and walk away.

“Don’t know how I’ll sleep without your scent.” Yuri’s face flushes hotly the moment the words are out of his mouth. He hadn’t intended to say that; the mere idea of it makes him sound every bit the omega stereotype he tries not to emulate. Regardless, it’s still true. He’s been spoiled, sleeping next to Otabek so much over the past couple of weeks.

“Otabek,” Katsuki’s voice breaks in. He gives Yuri an apologetic look. “Your flight…”

Nothing more needs to be said. Otabek nods at him and Katsuki steps back again.

Otabek looks at him and then shrugs his backpack to the floor. Yuri is still staring at it when Otabek pulls his Kazakh Team hoodie up over his head and hands it to him. He tugs his t-shirt back down where it had ridden up and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Should smell like me for a while, yeah?” Otabek says quietly.

Yuri stares at the hoodie in his hand. He looks up at Otabek and has to clench his jaw.

“Mine won’t fit you,” he says, handing Otabek’s back to him. Before he can protest, though, Yuri is unzipping his National Team jacket and handing it to Otabek; he takes Otabek’s back and holds it against his chest.

Otabek shoulders his backpack again and folds Yuri’s jacket over his arm. Omegas aren’t as good at discerning intention from scent as alphas are, but they’re better at picking up the emotions behind them, and he can smell the anxiety in Otabek’s right now.

“I’ve got to go,” Otabek tells him. Not for the first time does Yuri think it’d be all right if he missed his flight. He bites the thought back and he nods. “I’ll call you.”

“FaceTime,” Yuri says.

Otabek inclines his head and takes his face in both hands. The kiss against his mouth is sweet and chaste and not nearly what he wants; the kiss against his forehead lingers a bit longer. And then Otabek is waving at Katsuki and Viktor and walking away from him. 

He watches until Otabek disappears then turns back to where Yuuri and Viktor are hovering. He doesn’t make eye contact with them, merely shrugs his backpack and sets it on a nearby chair. He can’t put Otabek’s hoodie on now; so many other people around will dilute his scent and make it weaker, so he folds it and tucks it away for now. His hands shake a little as he zips it up.

Viktor holds out his own National Team zip-up to him but something in Yuri recoils at the thought of it. He doesn’t want to smell like Viktor; that’s not his alpha. He shakes his head and Viktor looks a little hurt. 

“Smells wrong,” he mumbles, by way of an apology. Viktor seems to get it then and puts his jacket back on.

“It’s cold,” Katsuki says, looking down at the weather app on his phone. “You don’t have anything to wear?”

“I’m fine.” Yuri suddenly feels anxious to leave. His ankle hurts and he doesn’t want to stand here and wait, knowing that Otabek is just a few gates down, getting ready to board a plane that will take him away. “Can we just go?” 

Katsuki hesitates and then tucks his phone into his pocket before unzipping his own jacket. Yuri holds up his hand to stop him, already shaking his head until the other Yuuri nudges it against his chest.

“Beta,” he reminds Yuri, like he could ever forget, “doesn’t smell like much.”

Viktor makes a noise like he doesn’t agree. Yuri shakes his head and pushes it back toward him. He can’t. He doesn’t want to. It isn’t Katsuki’s place to take care of him and it certainly isn’t Viktor’s either. He thinks about the suppressants and blockers sitting in the inner pocket of his backpack and how they dull his scent to practically nothing, make him smell like he hasn’t presented, or is simply a beta. But he isn’t either of those things; he’s an omega. And now that he’s felt the steadying touch of an alpha that cares about him, he doesn’t want it from anyone else.

“Can we just go?” he asks, voice a little loud. He doesn’t actually have to wait for these two and he doesn’t know why he is. He starts walking and the other two follow, speaking to one another in hushed tones that Yuri wishes he couldn’t hear at all. He can get something out of his suitcase before he freezes outside.

Viktor had driven them to the airport, and Yuri could take a cab or call Lilia for a ride (she and Yakov had returned the day before), he doesn’t want to waste the time. His nerves feel shot, the further away from Otabek that he gets. He’s anxious and tired and his ankle aches as much as his chest does. 

His medal is a heavy weight around his neck and he suddenly wants it off. After he’s grabbed his bag from the luggage carrousel, he drags it out of the way and kneels down to unzip it. Yuri tucks his medal away, inside of a t-shirt, and pulls out a hoodie that’s cold and smells a little stale. 

Viktor keeps shooting him worried glances and Yuri wants to do something immature like stick his tongue out at him. Katsudon, for whatever reason, is playing interference, and continues to distract Viktor. Yuri glares at their linked fingers as they walk in front of him. He hitches up his backpack and pulls his suitcase along with him, already trying to figure out what he’s going to tell Grandpa, when he goes home, but he hasn’t the faintest idea of what to say yet. He hopes that Grandpa will be understanding and welcoming, but he doesn’t know. Yuri isn’t a quiet, little omega who’ll bow to an alpha’s will, and his Grandpa knows that. But will he see what Yuri sees in Otabek? 

He can’t smell the hoodie in his backpack, but the knowledge that it’s there helps to calm him. He tries not to think too hard about that and focus on whatever it is that Katsuki is suddenly turned around saying to him. It’s good to be home, but he’s already counting the days until he sees Otabek again. 

He’s so fucked. 

 

\--

 

As promised, Otabek calls him on FaceTime when he gets home. He looks tired, his color washed out and the circles under his eyes darker than they were in the airport, but he smiles at Yuri and talks to him until he’s yawning near constantly. Flura makes several appearances and Yuri talks to her while she purrs in Otabek’s lap.

Yuri doesn’t want to let him go, but he’s getting tired himself and he knows Otabek is still exhausted from the changes he’s gone through. Add to that a competition, two transatlantic flights, and entering another time zone, and Yuri’s more than a little shocked that he’s lasted this long.

Finally, he sighs and says, “Go to bed, Beka.”

Otabek doesn’t protest, only nods at him. “You too.” Yuri huffs.

“Talk to you tomorrow?” He hates that it comes out like a question, because rarely has a day gone by, since they met, where they haven’t at least texted one another.

“Of course,” Otabek says, smiling softly. Yuri wishes he could kiss him goodnight and his cheeks warm pleasantly at the thought. “Goodnight, Yurochka; sleep well.”

“Night, Beka.”

The connection ends and Yuri lies back against his pillows with a sigh. He stares at his ceiling for a moment before rolling onto his side to plug in his phone. He sits up and gets to his feet, padding quietly over to his backpack. Part of him had been afraid that Lilia would be able to smell Otabek’s scent and question him on it, but she hadn’t said anything. He unzips his bag and pulls the hoodie out, pressing the fabric to his face and inhaling until his lungs burn.

The sting in his eyes is unwelcome and the pang in his chest is frustrating. He hates that his second nature is so prevalent when he and Otabek haven’t even bonded. They aren’t mates, they aren’t lovers, Yuri isn’t even sure that they’re boyfriends, but he aches to be close to Otabek again and it’s not fair that he can’t be.

He tugs the hoodie on and climbs into bed. 

They both have some time off coming up and Yuri wants them to spend it together. He knows that to do that, he’s going to have to talk to Grandpa. But tell him _what_? Grandpa will be protective and wary, no matter what Yuri says about Otabek. Yuri doesn’t actually know another omega that he can ask for advice, or even just talk about this to. They aren’t so rare anymore that they’re treated like property (like they were just a couple generations ago) but still, he doesn’t know anyone, other than himself, who has presented omega. Even if he did, he doesn’t think he’d be willing to open himself up like that. He knows he wouldn’t.

There’s really only one person he thinks he might be able to speak to about it, and that someone is sleeping across town with an alpha all his own. Even then, he can’t imagine the other Yuuri actually telling him anything beneficial. And he knows damn well Viktor will be practically jumping at the chance to try to give him advice all his own. 

He sighs and folds the sleeve of Otabek’s hoodie over his hand and presses it against his nose. He can feel himself start to relax at the familiar scent. 

There isn’t much of a choice, really. And it’s not like he minds Katsudon that much anyway. He can do it for Otabek, he thinks tiredly. His eyelids begin to droop and Yuri drops off to sleep quickly.

 

\--

 

In the morning, Yuri wraps his ankle as tightly as he can manage and he skates. It should be therapeutic, the day should be all right, because he’d woken to a good morning text from Otabek (one that included a picture of him shirtless, holding his cat against his chest). He’d wanted to respond with a similar picture, even gotten his shirt off for it, but he’d lost his nerve and left the picture out. His reply has gone unanswered, because Otabek is probably skating or working out or something responsible like that; Yuri has still checked his phone every few minutes since he sent his reply, and locked it feeling just a bit more upset each time.

He’s distracted; he knows he is. He doesn’t have to be here; he deserves a day off, even Yakov had said. But skating is the one thing in his life that he has control over, and he needs that, right now.

His shirt is stuck to his back with sweat and his ankle throbs steadily inside his skate, despite the brace he’s got on, and his fingers are numb from the cold. He botches another landing, his hand coming out to catch himself on the ice, and he feels ready to pull his fucking hair out. 

Yuri comes to a stop, spraying snow as he does, and stands there, panting for breath. His ankle aches so he can’t skate, Otabek is all the way back in Almaty, and he still doesn’t have the faintest idea of what to say to his Grandpa about him. He feels out of control and he hates it. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

On the boards, his phone pings with a new text and Yuri races over to it, skates gliding over the ice, the sound echoing loudly in the empty arena. He bumps the boards hard with his hip and he lets out a hiss of pain. Seeing Otabek’s name on the screen makes up for the bruise that he’s likely just given himself. He puts his hands on the boards and levers himself up to sit on them, the backs of his blades bumping noisily as he does.

> (11:14am): No, not skating today.

Yuri’s eyebrows furrow at the clipped reply to his previous text.

 _So what were you doing?_

He doesn’t mean to sound like an expectant teenager but he’s exactly that and he doesn’t really care. Otabek starts and stops typing a few times and Yuri’s stomach begins to twist itself into knots. He wipes at the sweat on his forehead and tries to ignore the goosebumps pricking up along his arms.

> (11:16am): I took my mom and sister out for lunch. Hadn’t seen them in a while. I had some things I needed to tell them.  
>  (11:17am): Mainly about you  
>  (11:17am): And suddenly being an alpha

Yuri’s heart leaps into overdrive, pounding hard against his ribs and in his throat. He wishes he could feel his fingers more so that he could type quicker.

_You told them about me?_

> (11:18am): Yura. Don’t.

_Don’t what?_

> (11:18am): Of course I did  
>  (11:19am): I still need time to work through this all but I know what I want. Nothing’s changed since yesterday.

The breath Yuri lets out is shaky. He rubs at his eyes until they start to water. His phone pings again.

> (11:21am): Yuri?

_Yeah I’m here sorry. I’m glad you told them._

He kicks his feet a little, listening to the thump of his skate blades against the boards.

> (11:23am): You skating today?

_Yeah. Right now actually._

(11:24am): Did you get your ankle looked at? I know you’re gonna say no. Did you ice it? Wrap it?

Yuri huffs and rolls his eyes, but he has to bite his lip to keep from smiling down at his phone like an idiot.

_Yes ice, yes wrap. If it gets worse I’ll get it looked at. Happy?_

> (11:25am): Thrilled.

Yuri can imagine the deadpan look on his face and he does smile then. He brings his fingers to his mouth to exhale onto them; they’re almost completely numb now. Otabek starts typing again before he can reply with something smart-assed.

> (11:27am): My sister wants to meet you. I told her next time you visit.

Yuri’s heart gives a funny leap in his chest at the thought of meeting Otabek’s family, small as it seems to be. He gnaws on his bottom lip for a moment, thinking of what to say back.

_Yeah sure and you can meet my Grandpa soon too. I want to talk to him in person when I go back to Moscow._

> (11:30am): Don’t rush for me Yura.

_I’m not. I won’t._

He resists the urge to tell Otabek that he’s not rushing for him, but for himself. They both know that the sooner Yuri tells him, the sooner Otabek can come. He hopes, anyway. He can’t imagine his Grandpa having a reaction bad enough to the news that Yuri’s met an alpha that he would forbid him from seeing Otabek. But the fear is there and it’s eating away at his belly with every passing moment.

> (11:31am): Gotta hit the gym  
>  (11:31am): FaceTime later?

_Yeah for sure._

> (11:32am): Talk then xx

Yuri blinks down at his phone a few times, taking in the double Xs at the end of the text. He bites down on his lip and locks his phone before he can reply with something similar. He swings his legs around and hops down on the other side of the boards and goes to unlace his skates. Those two stupid little letters combined with the shirtless picture from this morning are more than enough to distract him into breaking his neck. He knows well enough when to call it good.

 

\--

 

“Yurio!” Viktor crows as he throws open his door, eyes squinted with his smile and crinkled at the corners.

Yuri pushes passed him and limps over to the couch. “I need ice,” he announces before flopping down and kicking his feet up. Viktor’s dog appears a moment later, sniffing at his fingers before sitting down next to him, tail thumping against the floor. Yuri scratches behind his ear.

He hears the door shut and footsteps leading into the open kitchen. The freezer door opens and closes, and then an icepack lands on his stomach. It scares the shit out of him.

“Ass,” he says under his breath, sitting up enough to situate the pack over his ankle.

Viktor comes around the end table to sit on the other side of the couch. He’s staring at Yuri expectantly, eyebrows slightly arched, expression questioning. 

“Well?” he asks. “Did you just come to spread sunshine and cheer or was there some other reason for this visit?”

Yuri looks at Makkachin instead, rubbing his knuckles up under the dog’s chin. Viktor sighs loudly.

“Where’s Katsudon?” he asks.

“Sleeping.” Yuri flicks his eyes over to Viktor’s. “You came to speak to Yuuri?”

“Jealous?”

Viktor smacks the bottom of the foot without the ice pack. “Don’t be rude.”

Yuri glares at him for a moment before turning his gaze to the ceiling. He folds his fingers against his chest and shakes his head. “You can’t help me.”

“I could try,” Viktor says quietly. Then, “Is it Otabek?”

“You don’t know anything about it,” Yuri grumbles.

“That’s because you won’t tell me,” Viktor says. He reaches over and lifts Yuri’s feet to slide over enough so that he can rest them in his lap. It’s reminiscent of the plane back from the States and he wishes Viktor hadn’t moved. He tosses his arm over his eyes to block out the sight.

“You can’t help me with this,” he repeats. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

Viktor is quiet for a while, his hand warm on Yuri’s shin, thumb brushing back and forth against the fabric of his skinny jeans. “Yuuri’s a beta,” he says quietly.

“I know that,” Yuri snipes back.

“He might not know what it is you need to hear, is my point,” Viktor says. 

When Yuri moves his arm from his eyes, his vision is blurry, leaving halos around the overhead lights; he has to blink a few times to clear it. 

“I don’t know what I need to hear,” he admits, still looking at the ceiling. 

Viktor is quiet, like he’s contemplating what to say, and Yuri isn’t sure if it was a good idea to come here to these two idiots, because Viktor is right, neither one of them are omegas. Yuuri has bonded with Viktor but he’s still a beta. And Viktor himself has no idea what the vulnerability of being so gone for an alpha could possibly feel like; the feeling that everything in his life is about to change drastically, even though he isn’t scared by it. He thinks he just needs to _talk_. Still, he doesn’t know where else to turn, so he stares at the ceiling and waits for whatever stupid thing is about to come out of Viktor’s mouth. 

It couldn’t hurt, he figures.

“Are you afraid of him?”

Yuri jerks his head up off the armrest of the couch so fast that it tweaks his neck. “What? No!”

Viktor holds his hands up, sounding uncommonly serious as he goes on. “You’ve had an aversion to alphas as long as I’ve known you—“

“Because you’re all terrible.”

“And now one comes along who’s got you weak in the knees—“

“He wasn’t an alpha when we met.”

“He was always an alpha. Maybe you’re a little bit afraid that you started falling for him despite the fact.”

Yuri rubs the heels of his hands hard against his eyes. “I didn’t _know_ and I’m not afraid.”

“So you don’t care that he’s an alpha?” Viktor asks.

“I care because… because I like him. I care because it’s part of him. I care because he makes me feel fucking weak and I hate being driven by my other nature. It’s not _fair_. Now I get to second guess everything that happens between us because his dick suddenly knots and even just the way he smells calms me down.” He rubs his eyes again. “I don’t know what’s real for him. He says he felt like this before he presented but how do I _know_ it’s me and not what I am?”

Viktor’s hand tightens around his ankle and squeezes while Yuri takes a shaky breath through his nose and blinks at the ceiling until his vision clears. He hadn’t meant to say half of that. 

When Viktor doesn’t reply, he lifts his head and looks at him, feeling a little too wild and out of control of himself again. “Well?” he demands. 

Viktor leans his head against the plush cushion behind him and shrugs his shoulder. “You trust him.”

Yuri holds his gaze, Viktor rubbing at his calf and looking right back at him. 

_I miss him_ , Yuri wants to say. _I don’t know why he thinks us working through this apart is a good thing_ , even though that’s a lie. He understands, even if he doesn’t like it. When Otabek comes back to him, he wants to know that it’s him that Otabek wants, that Yuri didn’t pressure him into something he isn’t sure about.

He turns his face toward the dog again and holds his palm out, letting him lap at it before nudging his head under it to be petted. Yuri doesn’t respond and Viktor doesn’t say anything further. 

The ice pack has gone lukewarm by the time Katsuki rises from his nap, padding down the hallway in socked feet, his glasses in his hand. The neck of his shirt is stretched and Yuri can see where Viktor has bitten him, the marks red and angry over his collarbone. He pauses for a moment, but when neither Yuri nor Viktor say anything, he continues on into the kitchen, pausing to drop a kiss to the crown of Viktor’s head.

Yuri doesn’t know why the sight of it makes his eyes burn.

Before he leaves, Katsuki catches him by the door and says, “A word of advice?” Yuri’s desperate enough that he’s willing to listen to these lovesick fools, so he nods. “Just be sure he’s what you want.” He barrels on before Yuri can interrupt him. “I don’t know how much you’ve thought about being with an alpha, but…” he drops off, blushing. The nerd. 

“I know their dicks knot,” Yuri says, just to watch the embarrassment thread quickly through his entire body. 

Other Yuuri drops his gaze, eyes a little wide behind his glasses. “It’s intense, I mean. All of it. It’ll be even more for you since Otabek can actually mate with you.” Yuri isn’t sure whose face is redder by the time Katsuki stops talking.

“Right. I—I should go,” Yuri says, fumbling at the doorknob. 

“I just meant that… don’t do anything you don’t want to.”

“I wouldn’t,” he grumbles, tugging the door open; he stops just over the threshold. “But thanks.”

Katsuki nods and Yuri pulls the door shut behind himself. 

 

\--

 

That night, after dinner, Yuri locks himself in his bedroom with his laptop. Katsuki’s fumbling advice wasn’t incredibly off the marker; he hasn’t thought about what a relationship with Otabek would be like, down the road. Right now, he mostly feels the urgency of getting Otabek to come to Russia to be near him. He wants to clarify this thing between them, wants a name for it, a title, he wants to be Otabek’s boyfriend, to kiss him and share his bed every night. The immediacy of that need has stopped him from really thinking about later on, once they’ve settled a bit.

Yuri’s first kiss had been with Otabek. He’s never done more, never wanted to. But now, that’s what’s going to happen, right? Once he and Otabek are comfortable they’ll progress beyond just simple touches and kissing, won’t they? 

The thought of sex with Otabek makes his face heat and his belly twist pleasantly. His body had changed with his presentation, given him crippling twice yearly heats that leave him wet and aching, grinding against his hand and fucking himself on his own fingers. He knows he’s physically ready for it, thinks that once he and Otabek work themselves out that he’ll be ready for it in every other way that matters too. 

But he’s never really _thought_ about it more than the abstract notion that he’d kill for someone to fuck him until he’s crying, while he’s in heat. 

It takes him a while, just staring at his blank browser, dragging his mouse around the screen, before he brings himself to click the search bar and type in _alpha omega sex_. 

Every result is porn. He should have seen that one coming. 

He glances at his bedroom door, like his Grandpa might just appear there and frown at him, before he clicks through to the first site and bookmarks it for later. His cheeks are absolutely on fire as he backs out and alters his search, adding in the word _education_.

He knows what goes on, every omega is forced into sex education once they present. Yuri was given his once Grandpa had taken him to see a doctor for suppressants and blockers. He remembers getting in the car with his Grandpa, afterward, and thinking he would never be able to look him in the eye again. 

He rereads information that he knows about himself; terrible articles with bolded headlines like _Why am I wet back there?_ that make him cringe. 

He reads a lot of new information, like some alphas choose to go on rut regulating medication that dulls their scent but keeps their ruts short and manageable. Yuri isn’t sure how he feels about Otabek dulling his scent, not when he likes it so much. 

There’s another article about the differences between mating and bonding, and another about how betas can bond but never mate, and another about how to ease a partner through rut without penetrative sex. The words _knot milking_ have him closing out the tab in a flash.

Yuri’s eyes burn a little from how long he’s been staring at his screen. He drags a hand down his face before he opens a new tab and bravely google image searches for pictures of knotted dicks. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, having already seen medical drawings of them in his omega sex education (shoddy as he’s starting to suspect that it was), but they’re still ugly. He feels his face screwing up as he studies one. It’s doing absolutely nothing for his dick, right now. 

He tries another one. And then another. And then one more before he closes that tab too, and then sets his computer aside to sprawl on his back. He wonders, absently, if he’ll think Otabek’s is ugly too. Somehow he doesn’t think that’ll be the case; he can’t imagine considering any part of Otabek ugly. 

Yuri’s hand rests on his stomach, tracing his fingertips over his exposed belly for a moment before he slips his hand into his sweatpants. He touches himself lightly, tracing his fingers up and down his length, just a little bit hard already. A moment later, he reaches for his phone and pulls up the shirtless picture Otabek had sent him this morning.

Licking his palm, he reaches back into his sweats and tugs at himself. He looks at the picture and he thinks about Otabek. He thinks about his hard chest, the strong muscles of his thighs, the softness of his lips, the brush of his tongue against Yuri’s. He thinks about Otabek going into rut for him, desperate and out of control, wanting to fuck him. He thinks about himself on his hands and knees, begging for it. He thinks about Otabek’s knot, swelling up like the dicks in those pictures but just for him. _Inside of him_.

Yuri chokes on an inhale as he loses it, coming all over his fingers, jerking himself hard and tight, body practically convulsing as he coaxes himself through it. His hand is soaked with his release, his stomach muscles ache, and his legs are shaking. He hasn’t ever come so hard before.

He hadn’t even gotten himself out of his sweats before he’d come, so he just wipes his hand off on his pant leg. He darts across the hallway with a new pair in hand and locks himself in the bathroom. He showers and dresses, avoiding any contact with his dick, afraid of prompting round two. 

“Well,” Yuri whispers to his reflection as he grabs his toothbrush, “I guess that settles that.” 

 

\--

 

For days Yuri alternates between skating with Mila and resting his ankle. It’s getting better and he’s smart enough not to push it. He doesn’t have another competition coming up for a while and he knows not to overdo it. He goes over to Viktor and other Yuuri’s apartment for lunch at the same time every day, and they both do a good job of avoiding the topic of Otabek.

When he’s alone, he talks to Otabek on skype and snapchats him videos of his cat high on catnip. He swallows his disappointment every single day that Otabek tells him _soon_ instead of _now_ , and he tries not to miss him too much.

Taking the train back to Moscow to see his Grandpa eases the ache in his chest more than a little bit.

On the morning of day fourteen, however, he wakes up knowing that he can’t take the waiting anymore. He finds his Grandpa sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a folded up newspaper. Yuri watches him for a moment, feeling all of ten years old again, seeing his Grandpa holding up the world for him, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he isn’t accepting of Otabek.

“Yurochka,” Grandpa says, interrupting his thoughts and making him jump. “Come sit, quit hovering.”

Yuri does as he’s told, pulling out a chair and dropping down into it, even as Grandpa stands to go make him tea. He fidgets, still not knowing what he’s going to say, alternating between tugging the sleeves of his shirt down over his knuckles and letting them go again.

“Stop that,” Grandpa chastises him lightly, “you’ll stretch it out.” He sets a mug down in front of Yuri and takes his seat again.

Yuri lets the smell of the strong brew drift over him. He thinks he might actually be sick if he takes a drink, but the warmth of the porcelain in his hands is grounding, at least. 

Grandpa eyes him over his readers. “What’s on your mind, boy?”

Yuri takes a breath and reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear; it’s already longer than he’s ever had it in his life. 

“Yura.”

“I don’t know how to—I don’t know where to start,” he says, looking down at his tea instead of at his Grandpa. 

After a few moments of silence, Grandpa takes off his glasses and folds them, setting them on the tabletop. 

“You just tell me.”

If only it were that easy. He bites at his lips and searches for the right words. He doesn’t know if there _are_ right words for this. Grandpa is a beta and, as much as he’s been there for Yuri, he doesn’t know what it’s like either.

“I met someone,” he says. “Someone I—I really like.”

He chances a glance over at Grandpa, and he’s looking evenly back at Yuri. “Do I know them?”

Yuri shakes his head, looking down at his hands as he rolls his mug a bit between them. “I met him… well, once a long time ago, but again in Barcelona.”

Grandpa has heard him talk about Otabek before and it’s easy for him to piece it together. “That Kazakh boy you’ve been off to see?” Yuri nods. “Boy, out with it. What have you done?”

Yuri’s gaze snaps over to his Grandpa’s. “Nothing. I didn’t—we didn’t do anything. We were friends but…” he sighs, tugging at his hair with both hands, feeling frustrated at his inability to put it into words. “He’s more than that. He always has been.”

Grandpa looks mildly placated but Yuri knows he’s about to ruin it with his next few words, so he hurries up and says them. Rip the bandage off, he thinks.

“He’s an alpha.” He can see the shift to something like anger in his Grandpa’s eyes and he rushes to go on. “He wasn’t before. He hadn’t presented, I mean. He thought he was a beta. Grandpa, I swear, I would have been able to smell it on him.”

His Grandpa pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re going to be the death of me, Yuri.”

“Don’t say that,” Yuri says. “Please.”

The silence between them is thick and uncomfortable; it goes on for so long that Yuri starts to feel nauseous again. Finally, Grandpa sighs. “Did he hurt you?” 

“No. He presented after I came home. He never touched me.” He doesn’t even want to tell his Grandpa that he’s kissed Otabek and shared his bed with him, both back in Almaty and in Boston, since then. He reaches for Grandpa’s hand. “You’d like him, Grandpa,” he says. “He’s… he’s a good person. He’s good to me, he makes me feel safe and cared for and all of the other stupid crap alphas are supposed to make omegas feel. And I…” Yuri trails off to take a shaky breath. “I really like him,” he ends on something close to a whisper.

It’s not anywhere near as articulate as he’d hoped his confession to his Grandpa would be, but he thinks it could be worse. Probably. It’s out there now, at least. He’s said it and he can defend Otabek or his own feelings, if need be. 

Grandpa still has the bridge of his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes closed and his face resigned. Yuri can’t tell if it’s a good thing or not; Grandpa hasn’t taken his hand out from under his, at least.

“Grandpa?” Yuri asks.

His Grandpa sighs again and then his fingers tighten around Yuri’s. “When is he coming?”

“What?”

“You want me to meet him, right? That’s what this is about?”

Yuri shrugs a little. “Yes, but I’d like you to—I don’t know. I want you to like him.”

“Well, that depends on him, doesn’t it?” Grandpa asks. He doesn’t sound angry and the weary set to his face has lessened.

“So, I can see him?”

Grandpa’s mouth twists to the side. “You won’t be flying back out there anymore. Not until I talk to him.”

“He’ll come here,” Yuri assures him. “We’ve talked about it. He’s been waiting on me to tell you about… us.” 

His Grandpa hums. “So there’s an ‘us’, is there?”

Yuri feels like his face is going to go up in flames but he nods. “I think so. We both want there to be, at least.”

“Oh, Yuri,” Grandpa says, patting his hand. “I didn’t think this day would come. My little Yurochka; you’re growing up. Found yourself an alpha you don’t hate.”

Yuri groans. “Grandpa, don’t. Please.”

Grandpa smiles at him, just a bit. “Bring that boy here.” Yuri nods, feeling lighter than he has since Otabek had embraced him after the podium at Worlds. “He doesn’t stay here.” Yuri nods again. “And no sex.”

“Grandpa,” Yuri groans, burying his face in his hands. He can feel the heat of his cheeks against his palms.

“I mean it.”

Yuri doesn’t want to agree to that but he nods just to make his Grandpa stop talking. He’s still giving Yuri a stern look when he drops his hands and picks up his tea. 

Grandpa sighs and reaches over to push Yuri’s hair back behind his ear. “Don’t know how you see like that,” he grumbles, putting his glasses back on and taking up his paper again.

 

\--

 

_Busy?_

> (9:45am): Never for you.

Yuri rolls his eyes, biting down on his bottom lip to keep from smiling stupidly down at his phone.

_FaceTime me Romeo._

Mere seconds later his phone begins to ring. Yuri feels a momentary surge of panic because he hadn’t even thought about the too-big t-shirt he’d worn to bed and his tangled hair, flattened on one side and sticking up everywhere else. He looks like a hot mess on the screen and he hurriedly yanks his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face, before he swipes to answer the call.

Otabek is gorgeous, of course, hair sweaty and limp against his forehead, cheeks just the slightest bit flushed. He’s obviously at the rink, probably taking a break just to talk to him. Yuri can imagine him in one of the tight warm-up shirts his sponsor sends him, leaning against the boards while someone else skates behind him. Yuri wants to bury his nose in the sweaty hollow at the base of his throat and inhale until his lungs are bursting.

“Yura? Did I lose you?” he asks, brow furrowing.

“No, I’m here,” Yuri says, sitting upright.

“Your hair’s back today. I’d forgotten what your forehead looked like,” Otabek tells him with an easy grin.

Yuri huffs, feeling his cheeks heat. “You sound like my Grandpa, old man.”

Otabek doesn’t seem the least bit put off by this. “Looks good.”

“My forehead’s really doing it for you, huh?”

Otabek laughs, warm and easy and Yuri misses him so badly that he aches. “The forehead and the rest.”

Yuri fights the urge to squirm. “Right.”

“How are you?” Otabek asks. Yuri hadn’t responded to his good morning text before he’d been so overwhelmed with thinking about the distance between them that he’d gotten up and gone directly to talk to his Grandpa. 

“Good. You?” Before Otabek can respond, a girl about their age skates by and says something in Kazakh that Yuri doesn’t quite catch. He watches Otabek let out a laugh and turn and yell something back. The whole exchange happens in just a handful of seconds, but it’s enough to make a bitter curl of jealousy tighten in his belly. “Beka,” he snaps.

“Sorry, what was that, Yura?”

“If I’m interrupting, I can let you go,” he says, unable to keep the heat from his voice.

Otabek’s brow furrows. “Yuri, that was nothing; I’m here.” Yuri works his jaw, trying not to grind his teeth. He doesn’t like feeling like this, like he could lose Otabek’s attention to anyone who happens by because they’re so far from one another.

“Yurochka,” he says, putting a certain emphasis on his name that sends an involuntary shiver down his spine. He licks his bottom lip and blinks a few times to clear the momentary haze. 

“You—did you just…”

Otabek looks equally surprised at the effect, eyebrows slightly raised and lips parted. “I didn’t mean to,” he says quietly. “What happened?”

“Your alpha voice,” Yuri tells him. He shakes his head to clear it. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I should be the one—“

“Already forgotten,” Otabek says. He brings up his free hand to push his sweaty hair off of his forehead. “I miss you.”

Yuri scoots back on his bed to lean against his pillows. “Come see me, then." Otabek takes in a deep breath and lets it out in a sigh. Yuri can see the words that Otabek has told him a dozen times over already forming again, so he cuts him off. “I told him.”

Otabek hesitates and then his face perks up. “You did?” Yuri nods. “Yura…” he says, trailing off with a smile. “It was okay? He doesn’t mind?”

“He wants to meet you before we go back to St. Petersburg but he was okay. He wasn’t angry.” Yuri glances away from the screen for a moment before he goes on. “He says we can’t have sex, though.”

Otabek visibly blanches. “He—we haven’t—“

“I told him we haven’t.”

Otabek lets out a breath in relief, though his face is markedly redder than it was a moment ago. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, so, I can come.”

Yuri nods. “If you’re ready. I hope you’re ready.” He hesitates, because he’s told himself over and over that he won’t push this, won’t push Otabek into something he isn’t ready for, even if Yuri feels like he’s about to vibrate right out of his skin if he doesn’t get to kiss him again soon. “Are you?”

Otabek’s features soften and he nods. “I think so.” Someone shouts Otabek’s name and Yuri watches him wince before hollering back to them. “I have to go.”

“I heard,” Yuri says dryly.

“Call you in a couple hours?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Otabek takes in a breath, like he has more to say, but he shakes his head. “Bye, Yura.”

“Skate hard,” he says before ending the call. 

Yuri almost snaps his fingers and calls out for his cat before realizing that King is back in St. Petersburg. He rolls onto his side and presses his cheek to his bicep, hand still cradling his phone. His eyes burn a little and he closes them. His last heat was weeks ago, right after he’d stormed out in a panic over Otabek discovering his suppressants; he doesn’t have a reason to feel the desperate tug of loneliness in his chest. He rubs at his eyes and pushes himself up on his elbow.

He takes his blocker and his suppressant and dry swallows both pills. Collapsing in a huff, he squirms around until he’s got his legs under his covers and unlocks his phone. He prowls through instagram and twitter for a while before his eyelids start to droop. He’s still tired and he has nothing better to do until Otabek calls, so he rolls over and closes his eyes. Otabek’s hoodie is balled up next to his pillow and he pulls it close. It barely smells like him anymore, so little that he could be imagining his scent entirely, but it still calms the nervous twist in his belly. He drifts off holding it against his nose.

The ringing of his phone startles him awake. Disoriented, he knocks it off of his bedside table in a blind grab for it. 

“Beka?” he asks, once he finally grabs it, hanging halfway off of his bed. 

“Expecting someone else?” Otabek’s voice is teasing and Yuri groans, burrowing under the covers again. “Sleeping?”

Yuri makes a noise of agreement. “Tired.”

“Want me to let you go?”

“No,” he says immediately, hearing how rough his own voice sounds, thick with disuse. He clears his throat as he settles down against his pillow. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to make lunch without letting this beggar cat convince me that she needs my chicken,” he says. “It’s not working.”

“Feed her, you brute,” Yuri says around a yawn.

Otabek lets out a quiet chuckle. “Some help you are.”

“She’s a hungry lady.”

“She’s a fraud; she has a dish full of food.”

Yuri only realizes that he’s smiling when his cheeks start to hurt from it. He’s so fucked. “How’re your jumps?” he asks, steering himself away from that thought.

“Fantastic. They’ll be coming for your gold any day now to give it to me.”

“Ass.” He knows that Beka is kidding, but he wishes he wouldn’t. Yuri has watched him, seen his talent, admired it and applauded it. He hates to hear Otabek disparage himself, even if he’s joking.

Otabek hums. “So, your Grandpa is ready to meet me, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“He knows… he knows I’m an alpha, right?” he asks, his voice going quiet. Yuri can picture him, sitting cross-legged on his bed, fresh from a shower, hair wet, cat pacing and begging like a dog, while Otabek ignores his lunch in favor of talking to Yuri. His chest feels oddly tight, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“I told him.”

Otabek lets out a breath that crackles against the speaker of his phone. “So, I’ll come to Moscow then,” he says.

Yuri nods against his pillow. “Just to meet him. I want to go back to St. Petersburg after.”

“How long will you want me there?” 

Yuri immediately wants to say something stupid like _forever_ but he knows what Otabek is referring to. Yuri doesn’t have his own place and Lilia certainly isn’t going to let a new alpha move in with him. He knows that Otabek gets by in fairly reasonable comfort from his sponsors but he isn’t rolling in it either. He doesn’t know what to say.

“However long you can,” he says quietly. 

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I mean, I didn’t know you’d want to go back to St. Petersburg right away, but I figured you would.” Yuri stays quiet when he pauses. “So, I thought I could—we could rent an apartment for the summer.”

Yuri’s heartbeat kicks up as he registers the words. An apartment. With Otabek.

“For the summer?”

“If you want,” Otabek says, his voice still quiet.

“I want. Beka, are you kidding? Of course, yes.”

Otabek starts and stops several sentences before he exhales a laugh. “Is this crazy? This feels crazy.”

“Beka, just _come_ ,” Yuri groans. “We can figure it out once you’re here. We’ll find someplace and… fuck, Beka, we’ll get to _live_ together. I sleep like shit without you.”

Otabek lets out a quiet breath. “So do I,” he admits. “I wake up in the night thinking you’re in the bathroom and I wait.” There’s more coming, Yuri is sure of it, so he rolls his lips inward and bites down on them to keep himself quiet. “We need to talk— _really_ talk—when I get there. About us and what we want.”

“I want you.”

“I know. Me too, Yura, but there’s more to it than that. This, between us, is serious. Missing you isn’t just an alpha instinct, to me; you’re all I ever think about.”

“Beka—“

“We need to be on the same page, Yuri. That’s all I’m saying.” His voice is still soft but his words have hit Yuri dead center of his chest. 

Yuri swallows to wet his dry throat. “No matter what we say, I’m still going to want to be with you.” He injects all of the confidence he’s built up since he confronted Otabek in Almaty into his words. He’s afraid of this thing between them, growing so quickly and so strong. He aches for Otabek to be near again, to touch him and kiss him. He wants so much and so fiercely that there’s no doubt left that this is what he needs. He wanted it before his second nature did and he trusts both instincts.

“Just promise you’ll talk to me about this.”

“I will.”

“Say it, Yuri.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” Yuri groans. He wants to stop talking about second-guessing and being sure. He wants the chance to find out what it’s like without reading blogs and hearing other people’s bonding and mating stories. 

He’s a little bit afraid of this thing that seems too big to comprehend, but he’s more than ready to jump, so long as Otabek jumps with him.

“I’m going to bring my cat,” Otabek says, making Yuri laugh at the sudden, lighthearted change of subject.

“King loves other cats.”

“Flura is a brat.”

Yuri hums. “They’ll figure it out.”

“Or kill each other.”

There’s a comfortable bit of silence between them before Yuri says, “Beka?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m waiting.”

He can hear the smile in Otabek’s voice when he speaks. “I’m coming, Yuri.”

Less than an hour later, Yuri gets a text from Otabek that is a screenshot of his flight confirmation and a smiley face made with a colon and a parenthesis, not an actual emoji, and two Xs. 

Three days. Only three more days.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating has gone from mature to explicit. Let me know if anything needs to be tagged.

Getting on his connecting flight home is one of the hardest things Otabek thinks that he’s ever done. He sits at his gate, staring at his boarding pass, considering tearing it in two and going after Yuri. He watches the queue of passengers dwindle down to stragglers, listening as people rush by all around him, and still he sits there, thinking it would be all right if he didn’t go home.

He wants to stay. He never wanted to leave Yuri’s side at all. They’ve been together every single moment for the past few days, and it’s been blissful. Sleeping in the same bed with Yuri, holding him, kissing him in the morning, watching other skaters together with their hands held and hidden between their seats. All of it. It’s been a tease of what could be, what Otabek wants and what Yuri has so easily professed to want. 

The entire weekend has all been a moment frozen in time, though. Otabek knows that he wants Yuri, wants everything that comes along with him, but he knows, just as well, that he can’t come into this without his head on straight. He has to be certain that he can give Yuri what he needs, that he’s capable of providing what he so desperately wants to give. He has no fucking idea how to be an alpha, when he’s lived his entire life as a beta.

He doesn’t know his own body anymore, doesn’t know what to expect from it. His joints ache in a way that Otabek knows isn’t just from skating hard and it terrifies him. He’s afraid that he’s growing again, which is going to make skating difficult because he’s been this height for years; he doesn’t know if he can adapt again—and still be competitive—at his age. 

Otabek leans forward, elbows on his thighs, and buries his face in his hands, boarding pass crumpling between his fingers. The coarseness of stubble against his cheeks isn’t foreign but it’s already thicker than it was before. His hormones haven’t leveled out entirely yet and it’s exhausting him. The low-level thrum of arousal that he’s lived in ever since his rut is slowly driving him insane. Sleeping beside Yuri, kissing him and running his fingers through his hair, feeling Yuri’s warm hands under his shirt, listening to him hum his contentment at being curled up with him has been brutal. 

He’s still afraid to touch himself, doesn’t even like looking at his cock anymore (even though the stretch marks are losing their dark, angry colors). He’s afraid he’s going to knot if he becomes aroused, so he’s avoided touching it any more than he has to. 

The not knowing is what’s making him afraid. There are so many uncertainties. He’s never been taught or bothered to learn how to be an alpha because he’s been convinced of his beta nature since he knew what second genders were. It’s always felt right to him; he’s never questioned it. And now…

The last call for boarding comes out over the speakers near him and he drops his hands, looking at his pass, straightening it out against his thigh.

He can’t come to Yuri while he’s still uncertain of anything. And, while he knows that Yuri is sure of himself and his wants, he thinks they’d both benefit from doing some thinking on their own.

With a sigh, he stands and grabs his bag, unzipping it a bit to make sure that Yuri’s jacket is still folded up inside. Satisfied at seeing the Russian Emblem through the gap in the zipper, he closes it up and shoulders his backpack. He’s fairly certain he’s the last one on board.

 

\--

 

Flura bounds over to him like a dog, when he walks in the door. She’s got her claws buried in his jeans, like she’s going to scale his leg, but he detaches her and lifts her up to kiss the top of her head. His neighbor has been looking in on her for him but it’s nice to know that he’s clearly been missed.

She climbs her way onto his shoulder and purrs against his ear, rubbing her cheek against his stubble. He holds onto her with one hand as he drags his suitcase over to the dresser and props it up against the wall. He should do his laundry, change his sheets, clean the kitchen, any number of productive things. What he does, instead, is flop down sideways on the bed and pet his cat. He’s so tired.

Still, he has a promise to keep. He texts Yuri, _Home._

Yuri responds quickly.

> (10:58pm): FaceTime?

Otabek pushes himself toward his pillows, petting Flura when she meows a complaint at being dislodged. She just follows him up and settles across his hips, peering off into the apartment as he resumes stroking her. He calls Yuri, cringing at his own appearance on his phone screen.

Yuri answers, looking tired but still managing a warm smile when Otabek greets him. It feels strange to trade pleasantries like they do. Yuri asks about his flight and Otabek asks about his cat, although Flura seems to take that as a call to crawl up his chest and sniff at the phone. They’re passed all of this, these almost awkward exchanges with one another. He knows why, though. Yuri is holding in asking him to come back to him, and Otabek is hoping that he doesn’t ask again.

They’re dancing around each other and Otabek knows that Yuri has left it up to him to decide when they’re ready to try for more. 

Before long, he’s yawning every couple of minutes, and Yuri sighs at him, pushing his hair out of his face. 

“Go to bed, Beka,” he says, his voice a little bit rough from lack of sleep.

Otabek wants to protest, but he can’t. He’s too tired, his body aching all over, and the sooner he goes to bed, the sooner he can get up tomorrow and start setting this all to rights. He says his goodnights to Yuri and his nosy cat, before he hangs up and plugs his phone in to charge. 

He drags himself into the shower because he hates smelling like the recycled air on a plane. He washes his hair and scrubs himself down carefully avoiding anything that might be considered stimulating to his dick. A part of him thinks that it might not be healthy for him to be avoiding this so avidly, but he still can’t bring himself to lay a hand on his dick again. He needs to see a doctor before he does anything.

The cat is curled up on his pillow and Otabek shoos her to the other one, accepting the bite that he gets for his efforts. He grabs a bottled water from the refrigerator to set on his bedside table, and then goes to double check that the door is locked. His backpack sits on the floor, there, where he’d dropped it when he came in. He hesitates. Yuri’s scent lingers faintly in his bed, on his unwashed sheets, but the smell of him coming from his backpack is strong and tempting. Otabek feels like he’s done nothing but restrain himself lately, and Yuri’s scent is a comfort that he doesn’t want to deny himself, so he doesn’t. He unzips his bag and pulls out Yuri’s jacket, bringing it to his face to inhale deeply. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, hands shaking as he pulls it away. Yuri’s sweet, omega scent is like slipping into a warm bath, like getting his legs rubbed down after a hard skate, like a hot cup of tea on a cold morning. It makes an unwelcome warmth curl in his belly, though; his dick twitches a little and he wills his arousal away. 

Folding up Yuri’s jacket, he tucks it between his own pillow and the pillow Yuri uses, and turns toward it. He can smell Yuri there, and it’s enough. Between that and Flura’s purring, he falls asleep quickly.

 

\--

 

“Beka!” 

He hears his sister’s joyful shout before he sees her. She launches herself at him and he catches her easily, wrapping her up in both arms as she clings to his neck. Her soft black hair tickles his nose and her knobby knees dig into his sides. 

“Did you miss me?” she asks, leaning back to look at him. 

Before he can respond, his mother approaches them, looking slightly exasperated at the scene her daughter has caused. 

“Jasna,” she says, “get down, you’re wearing a dress.”

Otabek turns his face toward her ear and whispers, “most of all,” before pressing a kiss to her temple and letting her down.

“Honestly, Otabek,” she says, brushing at Jasna’s hair with her hands. “You shouldn’t encourage her.”

“Missed you too, mom,” he says, looking down at his sister when she takes his hand, beaming up at him with one of her front teeth missing. 

His mother sighs. “Let’s get a table.”

Otabek follows her with his sister at his side. They’ve chosen to meet at a small café, one that reminds Otabek of a place he and Yuri had eaten at in Barcelona. He’s not hungry enough to eat but he lets his mother order a light lunch for the three of them. He watches her speak to their waiter. She looks lovely, hair tucked away under a dark blue hijab that matches the rest of her clothes, right down to her handbag. She has the air of money and the attitude of an omega who has been taken care of their whole life. Both of which are true. Even after his father died, his mother had never had to worry about finances.

He owes his mother for allowing him to skate, for funding him until he was able to get a sponsorship deal with a Kazakh sports clothing company. She’s never seemed satisfied with him, though. No podium that he’s stepped onto and no amount of public popularity has ever been enough. While she’s never been openly critical of him, she still looks at him like she wishes he were more like his father. 

Jasna turns to him as soon as their waiter leaves and starts asking him about America, and if he won. From the look his mother gives him, he can tell that she already knows he didn’t. His cheeks heat a little.

“I didn’t do very well,” he tells his sister. “I was very sick just before.”

His mother makes a noise but Jasna’s face is sympathetic; she pats his arm. “Are you better now?”

“Getting there,” he assures her with a smile.

He glances at his mother, wondering if she’s smelled the change in his scent. Knowing her, she would have mentioned it if she had. But his mother has only ever noticed what she wanted to and he’s not entirely surprised that she hasn’t. 

Otabek waits for their drinks to be set down in front of them to press onward. He doesn’t really want to, but this is part of it, he reminds himself. He knows that he has to be honest with his family.

Before he can say anything, Jasna sniffs and makes a face. “You smell funny,” she says, waving a hand in front of her face. 

His gaze immediately shoots over to his mother and he watches her eyes narrow. 

“I presented,” he says, before she can say a word. It’s embarrassing to have this conversation in public. To be eighteen years old and just now presenting isn’t the norm and he still doesn’t want anyone (who doesn’t already know) in the skating world to find out before he’s ready to tell them.

His mother stares at him across the table. “You’ve presented,” she says.

He nods. “Alpha,” is all that he says, because he doesn’t know what else to add to that.

“When?” she asks. 

Otabek has to stop and think about it. It’s been about two and a half weeks, but everything that’s happened to him feels both fresh and raw, and lifetimes away. He can hardly believe it’s been so little time, but the week of his rut has skewed things, forced him to lose time that he can’t ever get back. So little of it feels like it could have possibly just happened, but at the center of it all is Yuri, and he is very, very real.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Not quite three weeks.”

“And you’re just now telling me?” she asks.

“I’ve been busy,” he says, digging his thumbnail into the table’s varnish, where she can’t see it. “A lot happened, after.” 

She has to know what he means because she doesn’t press, sitting back in her chair and looking away from him. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jasna looking at him. “I thought you were a beta,” she says, taking a drink of her tea, so heavy with cream that it’s only barely tan in color.

“I thought so too,” he tells her. 

“But you’re an alpha now?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Huh,” she says, taking another drink. He can see her legs swinging under the chair. 

Otabek lets out a breath of relief, reaching over to rub her back for a moment. That’s one of them who doesn’t care that he’s changed. He turns his gaze back to his mother to find her looking at him. Somehow, he knows that she knows. 

“You’ve been seeing someone, then,” she says, rather than asks.

“Yes.” Kind of, he thinks, but he knows that the full truth won’t help him here. She’s very traditional when it comes to relationships, and knowing that he and Yuri aren’t quite together yet will make her angry.

She picks up her spoon to stir her tea. “I see. And when were you going to tell me?”

His phone buzzes and he turns it over to see Yuri’s name on the screen. He sets it down flat again without looking at the text.

“I’m telling you now. His name is Yuri, he’s from Moscow.” 

His mother flicks her eyes up to him. “He skates, then?” Otabek nods. “His status?”

Otabek had known this inquisition was coming but it still makes his skin prickle to have to tell his mother about Yuri while simultaneously defending him. 

“Omega.” 

She nods, seemingly satisfied by that part, at least. “And his family?”

“I don’t know.”

She blinks at him, setting her teacup down. “You don’t know?”

He sighs. This is nearly archaic. “His parents aren’t around, only his grandfather, who is a beta. I don’t know the rest; I haven’t asked because he never talks about them. He’ll tell me when he’s ready.” And it isn’t important, he doesn’t add.

“Oh, Otabek,” she sighs, leaning her cheek against her hand and closing her eyes, rubbing at her temple like he’s giving her a headache.

Otabek scowls at her while she can’t see it. 

Jasna touches his arm. “You have a boyfriend?” she asks, looking excited at the prospect. “Is he your mate?”

Otabek smiles at her. “I hope he’ll be my mate,” he confides to her, keeping his voice quiet. No one around them has paid them any mind, so far, but he’s still wary. His secret involves Yuri’s secret and it’s not his to tell.

“Can I meet him?” she asks, grinning her gap-toothed grin at him. “Is he cute?”

“Jasna,” their mother says.

“What?” she asks before turning back to Otabek. “What’s he look like?”

Otabek looks at his mother but she doesn’t say anything, like maybe she wants to hear this too, but would never ask.

“Very cute,” Otabek says, lifting his eyebrows quickly to make Jasna giggle. “He’s small, blonde hair, beautiful eyes,” then, “hazel,” before she can ask. “And he’s the most talented skater I’ve ever known.”

Jasna leans her chin on her palm, elbow propped up on her chair’s armrest, and sighs, like she can picture him. Otabek loves her. 

“I’ll need to meet him, of course,” his mother says, folding her napkin across her lap as their food arrives. Otabek sighs.

Jasna kicks him under the table and he looks at her. “I wanna meet him,” she mouths, while their mother is distracted. 

Otabek glances at her before back at his sister. “Okay,” he tells her, smiling when she does.

 

\--

 

There are countless downsides to time zones, but being three hours ahead of Yuri means that he’s always able to send out good morning texts for him to wake up to. He’d sent one when he’d woken up, today, with Flura held against his chest. He’d thought she’d looked cute, curled up against him like a giant ball of brown fur. It wasn’t until after he’d sent it that he thought maybe he ought to have put on a shirt first. 

He knows that Yuri is attracted to him, knows that Yuri is confident in what he wants, but Otabek worries a bit that it might come off as teasing.

He doesn’t get to read Yuri’s response until he’s on his way home. He has plans to meet with his trainer soon and he doesn’t have much time to talk. Still, he won’t miss an opportunity to do so.

> (12:32pm): Good morning to you both. Pet her for me. Are you skating today?

Otabek responds, half packing his gym bag and half focused on his phone. At least until Yuri’s disbelief (or insecurity, Otabek can’t tell) becomes apparent. He sits down on the side of his bed and debates calling him. He can’t afford to not show up to a paid session with his trainer or he would gladly waste away the afternoon talking to Yuri, telling him over and over how much he cares for him.

 _Nothing’s changed since yesterday._ he assures him. Yuri doesn’t respond and Otabek watches the minutes begin to creep by. _Yuri?_ he asks, feeling the cold tightening of panic begin in his chest.

> (2:21pm): Yeah I’m here sorry. I’m glad you told them.

Otabek lets out a breath that puffs up his cheeks. He’s going to age ten years in the time that he and Yuri are apart. He turns the subject to something less stressful, asking about Yuri’s skating and his ankle, which he knows Yuri won’t have had looked at yet. He’ll wait until it becomes a problem if no one is there to ride herd on him.

Otabek tells him about his sister, and Yuri tells him that he’s going home to Moscow soon to see his Grandpa. Otabek’s heart beats harder in his chest. Yuri is really going to do it. He’s really going to tell his Grandpa. He swallows to wet his dry throat and lets out a shaky breath. He hasn’t doubted Yuri’s desire to be with him, but if his Grandpa approves of it, then this can really happen. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, feeling his belly flutter with nervous excitement. Then he glances at the clock and realizes that he’s going to have to run the entire way to the gym to make it to his session on time. “Fuck.”

He promises to call later and pockets his phone. He’s out of breath and his lungs ache, but he’s only five minutes late to his session.

 

\--

 

Two days later, Otabek finds himself sitting in a new doctor’s office. He’d called his regular doctor and explained that he’d recently presented alpha, and he’d been directed to a specialist. He’s not quite sure why and it’s making him antsy. He bounces his leg while he waits, browsing through the instagram he rarely updates, just to see pictures of Yuri’s cat, and the occasional grumpy glimpse of him in one of Nikiforov’s photos.

He glances up when his name is called and follows a nurse back to an examination room. He’s weighed (nearly six pounds heavier than before) and measured (more than half an inch taller), has his vitals taken and has his blood drawn, before he’s instructed to wait for the doctor. 

The room is cold and he’s feeling uncommonly self-conscious. The knowledge that he’s getting bigger—not only in height, but in overall mass as well—sits like a lead weight in his belly. He’s going to have to change his entire skating style if he gets much taller; he doesn’t know if he can do that, at this point.

The door opens and admits his new doctor, a tall man with short, graying hair, wire framed glasses perched on his nose, and a kind smile. He sits on a rolling stool and holds out his hand, introducing himself as Doctor Temirov, a specialist in alpha medical care. Otabek shakes his hand and then folds his own together to press them between his knees. He feels unnerved and it only gets worse when Doctor Temirov asks him to describe what had happened to him.

He listens to Otabek’s lungs and takes his blood pressure again, giving him something else to focus on while he speaks. He wonders if he’ll become as perceptive as this alpha clearly is, or if that’s just his personal nature. 

“And this omega is where now?” Doctor Temirov asks, sitting on his stool again, making notes in Otabek’s chart.

“Back in Russia.” The doctor makes a noise like _mhmm_ and Otabek goes on. “I want to see him again but I’m afraid.”

Doctor Temirov looks up. “What are you afraid of?”

Otabek takes a breath and admits to this doctor what he won’t even admit to himself. “That I’ll lose control with him.”

“You said you two just recently spent a weekend together, after you’d presented.” Otabek nods. “Did you have sex with him?”

Otabek can feel the heat creeping up his neck from his chest. “No. I didn’t—we barely even kissed. I’m afraid something will happen if we… if it goes further.”

Doctor Temirov takes off his glasses, folding them into his lab coat pocket. “And why would you think that?”

“Because when I was in rut, I was out of control. I don’t even remember what happened, most of the time. All I thought about was him and—“ he stops abruptly, knowing that his face is starting to color red. He shakes his head.

“Your rut was different,” the doctor tells him, crossing one long leg over the other. “Presenting so late leads to an influx of hormones that are trying to overcompensate for your lack of previous ruts. Your desire to breed was overwhelming. It wasn’t your fault. And you said no one was with you, that you handled it on your own, which shows remarkable restraint. Even when this omega called you, you resisted and actively hid your means of communication from yourself.”

Otabek looks down at his hands; his palms are sweating. “I care about him.”

“You clearly do,” Doctor Temirov agrees, tapping his pen against Otabek’s file on his lap.

“What if my next rut is the same?” he asks, glancing up again. “What if he’s around and I hurt him then?”

“Your rut will only happen twice yearly,” the doctor explains, though that much Otabek had known on his own. “Your hormones will have leveled out by your next rut. You will be more lucid, but they’re never really pleasant. Though they will never be that intense again, on their own. Should your rut coincide with an omega’s heat, however, it will feel uncontrolled. Primal, if you will.”

Otabek lets out a breath and leans back in his chair, looking at the ceiling. “I didn’t want this,” he murmurs. “Why did I even present?”

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, when you’re having to relearn your body and navigate a relationship which has suddenly become very different, but this is a gift, Otabek.” Otabek snorts and rubs at his face with both hands. “I mean it,” Doctor Temirov goes on. “There is the possibility for you to bond so completely with another person that it will feel like finding your other half. Like divine intervention, if you will. You likely presented because you’re so fond of this person. You wanted to be with him and your body made it possible on the deepest evolutionary level.” 

Otabek looks back at the doctor. “You’re mated?” Doctor Temirov nods. Otabek sighs and shakes his head. “Yuri is still young.”

“Nothing says that you have to mate _now_ , Otabek. I would, in fact, advise against it until you’re more familiar with your body. Mating is a lifelong commitment. Both you and your partner could stand to be a little older to make that decision,” Doctor Temirov says.

Otabek nods. He has questions, things he’s looked up online but still isn’t certain about. He’s embarrassed, but he forces himself to ask. He can’t go to Yuri with misinformation. 

“Will I knot every time I… get hard?” He looks at a spot just over Doctor Temirov’s shoulder when he asks. 

“Rut is the only time you’ll knot every time it’s stimulated. You’ll be better able to control when you knot as you become used to the feeling of it, during sex. Sex right now would be very intense, however; you’d be less likely to be able to stop it.” Doctor Temirov puts his glasses back on and reaches for a prescription pad on the counter behind him. “There is a hormone regulator we can put you on that will balance you back out faster.” Otabek nods and watches as he scribbles illegibly across the pad. “There are also scent blockers that would dull your scent, making it less noticeable, if you’d like. And rut regulators but I don’t want to put you on one of those until you’ve had a few so we can tell if anything irregular is happening.” 

He watches the scent blocker prescription is written as well, even though he’s already thinking that he might not like that one. Because Yuri will likely protest to a dulling of his scent. He knows that Yuri is on blockers as well as suppressants, but he’s smelled the omega nature of his scent easily ever since he presented. Otabek accepts both prescriptions as he wonders at that.

“If I can smell him so strongly, while he’s on blockers, what does that mean?” he asks, tucking the pieces of paper into his pocket. 

Doctor Temirov looks at him with his eyebrows raised. “Two reasons. He’s either very fertile, which is highly unlikely. Or, if you smell it constantly and not just during certain times, then he’s very open to being mated to you. Omega scents are very particular; he controls how he smells to you, whether he realizes it or not. He’s producing this scent specifically for you.”

Otabek looks at his feet. He knows it’s Yuri’s body signaling to him with his scent but still, the question of Yuri’s fertility remains. “How unlikely is it?” he asks.

“That this omega can conceive?” Otabek nods. “The odds are very low,” Doctor Temirov says with a shake of his head. “Less than twenty percent, I’d say. It just doesn’t happen much in males anymore. Fewer and fewer every generation.” 

Otabek’s stomach sinks a bit and he wishes that it hadn’t. He doesn’t expect anything of Yuri. He just wants to be with him; that would be enough. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Any other questions?” 

“I don’t think so,” Otabek says, shaking his head. “Thank you.”

Doctor Temirov shakes his hand as they both stand. “If you have any further questions, you can call the office any time.” 

Otabek nods and follows the doctor from the room. 

He stops by the pharmacy and does some grocery shopping while he waits for his hormone regulator to be filled. The prescription for a scent blocker stays in his pocket.

 

\--

 

Otabek alternates spending his days in the gym and on the ice. He coaches three times a week to supplement his savings, a younger girl with remarkable talent and a terrible temper. She reminds him a bit of Yuri. She wants to skate pairs, but she’s learning to hone her ability on her own right now. She runs him absolutely ragged.

He comes home at night, after a workout and a session with Aly, feeling over-exerted and hungry. Flura follows him around the kitchen as he makes himself dinner, grilling chicken and chopping vegetables. He doesn’t allow her on the counter, but that certainly doesn’t stop her from hopping up. He has to shoo her away from the stove a few times so she doesn’t burn herself.

He reads in bed and plays video games with a couple of friends across town. They give him shit for not having come around recently, but Otabek still doesn’t know what to tell any of them. He’s afraid to reveal his presentation to them, unsure of their reactions. It can’t be good to bury himself in skating and working out, isolating himself with only Yuri, and he’s too tired to fend them off, right now.

Otabek caves and agrees to meet a group of them tomorrow night at a downtown bar they’ve been known to frequent. Otabek isn’t legal to drink yet, but he’s never had a problem getting one when he’s gone out. He usually sticks to water, anyway. 

Long after he’s turned the lights out, he lies awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what he’s going to tell them. His friend group is mostly beta, only one other alpha among them. It’s never been an issue between them, but he fears that he will be, for whatever reason. He’s afraid to tell them, regardless of the fact that he knows he’s being ridiculous and needs to stop hiding. 

His phone rings on his bedside table and he picks it up. It’s Yuri, of course, wanting to FaceTime. Otabek reaches over and clicks on his lamp, filling the room with soft light, before sliding his thumb across the screen to answer.

“Yura,” he greets.

“Were you sleeping?” Yuri asks. 

Otabek shrugs. “Not really.”

“I didn’t realize it was so late, there.” It’s only half-midnight but it’s still fairly early for Yuri. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Otabek says. “What’s up?”

“Bored,” Yuri says. The _missing you_ passes silently between them. Otabek knows the feeling. “Met with my tutor today. Turns out I’m terrible with math.”

Otabek lets out a quiet laugh, causing Flura to lift her head and look at him. He reaches over and scratches behind her ears. 

“I’m pretty good with numbers,” Otabek says. Yuri arches his eyebrows. “No, really. I could… maybe I could help.” He knows Yuri meets with a tutor a few times a week to keep up on his studies, though he rarely sees him doing any schoolwork. Yuri is as competent at his subjects as he is on the ice; except for math, it seems. 

“You’d have to be here to help me,” Yuri points out. Otabek lets out a breath, conceding the point. “I’m going back to Moscow in a few days.” 

Otabek knows this and he knows where this conversation is going. He nods. “Your Grandpa will be glad to see you.”

Yuri lies down on his side, resting his head on his bicep. He’s wearing Otabek’s Kazakh Team hoodie and it makes his heart beat harder, seeing his colors on Yuri, knowing that he’s wearing his name on him. Yuri rubs at his nose and then sneezes. His cat pops into frame a moment later, rubbing the top of his head against Yuri’s jaw.

“Needy boy,” Yuri chastises him, pushing him to lie down. Otabek can hear his purring through the phone.

“Just like his owner,” Otabek says. Yuri fixes him with a glare and Otabek smiles.

“Come see me,” he says, looking tired suddenly. 

Otabek wishes that he could just say yes, get up and get on a plane and come to him. His hormone regulators have begun to even him out, taken away the constant thrum of need that’s pulsed through his body like a low-grade fever ever since he went into rut. He feels level again, like he’s taking back control of his body. He hasn’t been brave enough yet to touch himself, but he thinks that he’d like to try again, soon. He’s feeling more like himself than he has since this all started. Talking to his mother and his sister, seeing a doctor and asking questions, it all has him feeling more confident in his ability to do this. To be a proper alpha for Yuri as well as for himself.

All he needs is for Yuri to say that he’s ready and Otabek will come to him. 

“Soon,” he says.

Yuri closes his eyes and his cat licks at his cheek. “Miss you, Beka.”

“Miss you, Yurochka.”

 

\--

 

Otabek arrives late to the bar. He doesn’t know who all is coming, so he might be the last one, but he’s glad for the public space and the amount of them gathered around the table, because he thinks his scent will get lost in it all. They greet him with claps on the back and shouts of his name, offering to buy him drinks while sarcastically calling him _The Hero of Kazakhstan_. He flushes and rolls his eyes and takes a seat. 

The only one left leaves him sat directly across from Maxim, the only alpha he considers a friend. He thinks that he hides his nervousness well, smiling and catching the hand Maxim offers him over the tabletop.

“What happened at Worlds?” Maxim asks, leaning back and picking up his beer. 

Otabek tries not to blanch. “I was sick,” he says, shrugging it off, “didn’t get to practice at all the week before. I considered dropping out.” He actually had considered it, but he knew that Yuri would be angry with him, both for not performing and for missing an opportunity for the two of them to spend extended, mostly uninterrupted time together. He didn’t want that either, so he’d sucked it up and gone through with it.

He hasn’t seen footage of his performance, however. He doesn’t need to watch it to know that it wasn’t up to his own standards. 

A glass is set down in front of him and someone ruffles his hair, but Maxim is still looking at him and Otabek can’t seem to break his gaze away. Beside him, one of their friends pulls Maxim into conversation and the tension seems to break. Otabek doesn’t know why the thought of his friends knowing that he’s an alpha now fills him with such dread, but it does. He isn’t as close to anyone as he’s become to Yuri, but he’s been friends with some of these guys since he was a kid. He doesn’t make close friends easily but everyone here has been around for years. Maxim he’s known since before his dad died; he’d leaned on him a lot at that time. He has to keep them at bay, now, though. As he’s reminded himself repeatedly, revealing his secret could reveal Yuri’s secret, and he won’t do that.

Maxim is just making him uncomfortable, glancing at him every so often, giving him a look that says that he knows something is off. Otabek sips the same beer until it goes lukewarm and engages in friendly conversation until he thinks that enough time has passed that he can leave without anyone complaining. 

Yuri has been texting him for a while and Otabek has taken to responding under the table, keeping his phone from view. He doesn’t want anyone reading what he’s saying or who he’s saying it to. He’d rather get home and just skype with Yuri; he’s never been much of a texter.

He stands, grabbing up his jacket and scarf, listening to the groans and insults flung his way, calling him an old man. He waves them off, thanks them for the drink and says a round of quick goodnights. He almost panics when Maxim gets to his feet and tosses some money on the table.

“Think I’ll head out too,” he says, glancing up at Otabek. “Hold up, Beks, I’ll walk with you.”

 _Fuck_ , Otabek thinks. He shrugs on his jacket and knots his scarf around his neck. There’s no way out of this that will leave him with any sort of dignity. 

He waits at the door and Maxim follows him out into the night. It’s cold, snow falling in light flurries that don’t stick, and a biting wind blowing that makes Otabek wish he’d remembered to grab a hat. They start down the street together, even though Otabek isn’t sure where Maxim lives, right now. He lights up a cigarette as they go and tosses his other arm around Otabek’s shoulders. He is instantly uncomfortable with the gesture and goes to shrug him off, but Maxim tightens his grip and pulls Otabek over, sniffing at the spot just behind his ear. 

It’s just one deep inhale, but it must tell Maxim all that he needs to know because he lets Otabek shove him off, despite how much shorter he is. Maxim takes a drag off of his cigarette, eyebrow arched at him.

“Knew something was weird with you,” he says. 

Otabek jams his hands in his jacket pockets and hunches his shoulders against the wind. “It’s none of your business.”

“Come on, Beka,” Maxim says, ashing his cigarette. “Tell your old alpha pal what’s wrong.” He easily keeps Otabek’s increased pace, his legs longer. He lets Otabek fume for a minute or so before he grabs him by the arm and slows him down. “Hey,” he says, flicking his cigarette away and shoving Otabek back against the wall of a building. “What’s the matter with you? Why won’t you talk about it?”

“It’s none of your business,” Otabek says again, pushing him back. Maxim doesn’t let him step away from the wall, though, stays hedged into his space. Otabek hates him a little, right now.

“Why is it such a secret? If anyone else back there had suddenly presented alpha, we’d be having a party,” Maxim tells him, sounding suspicious. “Why haven’t you told anyone?”

“It’s complicated.” 

Maxim rolls his eyes. “Sure it is. What’d you do? Find out when you were balls-deep in one of your little ice skating buddies?”

Otabek swings at him but Maxim seems to have been anticipating this and ducks out of the way before he shoves Otabek into the wall again. He doesn’t look angry, though; he almost looks pleased. Maybe it’d been his goal to get Otabek to react, he thinks as Maxim leans into his face, arm pressed hard against his chest.

“Too close?” 

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Maxim says, patting his cheek with his free hand. “Tell me about her.”

Otabek shakes his head. “Nothing to tell.”

Maxim, the bastard, is too perceptive for his own good. He looks Otabek in the eye for a moment, then asks, “Him, then?”

“Fuck _off_ ,” Otabek says, shoving at him again, only to be wrestled back to the wall. His head bumps the brick this time and he grunts, closing his eyes. “Why are you pressing this?”

“Because you’re being weird about it.” Maxim is entirely too close and his breath smells like cigarettes. Otabek turns his face away, staring down the street, watching people avoid, what he realizes now is, an alpha confrontation. 

“It’s none of your damn business,” Otabek says again. He can’t overpower Maxim, who is both taller and stronger than he is, and he doesn’t know what he needs to say to get him to let him go, either. He closes his eyes for a moment. Coming out tonight had been a mistake.

“Come on, Beks,” Maxim says, still leaning against his chest. “Is he ugly?”

“No.”

“Underage?”

“No. Fuck, just get off of me.”

Maxim turns his head forward with a hand on his chin and then ducks down to sniff at his neck again. Otabek doesn’t know what he’s doing and he doesn’t want to. He wants Maxim to let him go. 

“Hmm,” Maxim hums, drawing his head up again. “Omega?”

“You can’t smell that,” Otabek says.

Maxim’s grin says he either can or Otabek has confirmed it for him. He nods. “You’ve got his scent on you. It’s faint, but it’s there.” Otabek thinks of Yuri’s jacket beside his pillow and grits his teeth. “Smells sweet.”

Otabek would take another swing at him now, given the chance. He tries to wrestle his arms free to push Maxim off again, but Maxim holds him still, grinning at him. He hates the idea of anyone knowing what Yuri smells like. Yuri only allows himself to smell like that for Otabek and Maxim has no right to know his scent.

“What do you want from me?” Otabek asks, looking Maxim in the eye.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Otabek says, “all things considered.”

“You tried to hit me.”

“You deserved it.”

Maxim tilts his head. “Probably.” He takes a step back and grabs the front of Otabek’s jacket, tugging on it before smoothing his hands over his shoulders. “No harm done.”

“You’re still a dick,” Otabek says, starting off down the sidewalk again. 

Maxim stays at his side. “So tell me about your little omega and I won’t have to push you into any more walls.”

Otabek shoots a glare his direction. “I’m not telling you anything. It’s private.”

Maxim heaves a huge sigh. “You know, this is why everyone thinks you’re boring.”

“I thought everyone said I was boring because I never come out and get wasted at the bar. And I spend too much time ice skating. And when I was younger, it was because I did ballet.” 

“All of those reasons are true, too.”

Otabek rolls his eyes so hard it hurts a little. “This is why I don’t like any of you.”

“You wound me,” Maxim says, putting a hand against his heart. 

Otabek stops in front of his building, more grateful to see it than he ever has been in his life. 

“I don’t want anyone to know yet, but you’re a prick, so I assume you’ll just tell everyone anyway.”

Maxim huffs a breath that’s visible between them. “I’m not gonna tell, you whiny shit.” He fishes another cigarette out from his jacket and lights up. “No one would believe me anyway.” That’s a lie and they both know it. Maxim reigns supreme in their group.

Otabek shakes his head, digging his keys out of his pocket. “I’m not used to this, Maxim,” he says, feeling terribly vulnerable.

“The alpha part or the being in love part?” Maxim asks, exhaling smoke away from the two of them. Otabek freezes for a moment. He’s hasn’t even thought the word yet, in regard to Yuri, but he knows the second Maxim says it for him that it’s true. Or at least it’s starting to be. He’s falling in love with Yuri.

“Fuck, you’re a mess,” Maxim says, clapping him on the shoulder, letting his hand linger. “Don’t know how you ever ended up presenting alpha. I’d be less shocked if you’d wound up an omega.”

Otabek gives him a withering look and pulls out his keys. “Thanks for your words of wisdom.” He’s never going out with his friends again.

“Oh, don’t be such a prickly bitch about it,” Maxim says, shaking him a little before letting him go. “Someone is going to have to show you how to be a proper alpha.”

“Whatever,” Otabek says, already turning away and trudging up the stairs to the front door of his building. If acting like an ass is considered being a _proper alpha_ then Otabek knows that he’s never going to be accepted by society as a whole as one.

And he really doesn’t care.

 

\--

 

Ordinarily, it’s Yuri who initiates their calls. As busy as Otabek can be, Yuri is busier. Between his training on and off the ice, staying kept up with his studies, grudgingly giving interviews and posing for the occasional photo, it’s better if he tells Otabek when he can talk. They find time for it, more and more often lately, and Otabek is content with how frequently Yuri texts him asking him to FaceTime or, less frequently, if he’s around to skype. 

Otabek is restless, however. He showers, when he gets in from being accosted by Maxim, wanting to wash the smell of cigarettes off of his body. He thinks about having it off while he’s in there, but he’s frustrated by the things that Maxim had said to him and he doesn’t think he could get hard right now if he tried. Inexplicably, that makes him even angrier. 

He prowls around his apartment for a while, but it’s not big enough for him to wear off this nervous energy, and eventually he starts to agitate Flura too. She meows at him from the dresser and knocks over a half-empty water bottle. 

He sits down on the side of his bed with a sigh. He wants to talk to Yuri. He really should text first, he thinks, make sure he’s free. Yuri had gone back to Moscow to see his Grandpa a couple of days ago; he might be busy doing something with him.

Still, he finds himself unlocking his phone and letting his thumb hover over Yuri’s name. It takes more than a moment for him to finally tap the screen. 

Yuri answers on the second ring.

“Beka?” he asks.

“Hi, Yura,” Otabek says, reaching over to scratch his cat when she comes closer, before she hops to the floor and disappears down the hallway to the bathroom.

“You all right?” Otabek can hear the concern in his voice. Otabek pushes back until he’s lying sideways across his bed, holding his phone to his ear, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Had better nights. You busy?”

Yuri makes an annoyed sound at him. “No. What happened?”

Otabek rubs at his eyes and drags his hand down his face, letting it rest on his chest. “Just went out with some friends of mine. Wish I hadn’t.”

It’s not his intention to make Yuri worry but he can still hear it in his voice. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing, Yura. One of them is an alpha and an asshole. He smelled the change on me and decided to give me shit about it.” Yuri is quiet. “I didn’t tell them about you,” he says, suddenly concerned that Yuri is afraid he’s spilled his secret. “He caught me out, I mean; he knew I’d met someone, but I didn’t tell him anything.”

“Idiot,” Yuri says, “I know that.” Yuri’s unyielding faith in him tugs at the tension in his chest, starts to unravel it. He closes his eyes. “Did he hurt you?” Yuri asks quietly. 

“No, Yuri.”

“Because I know that happens sometimes. Alphas acting tough and stupid isn’t new, and add in alcohol—“

“Yuri, no. I promise.” There’s no need to worry Yuri about the scuffle with Maxim after the bar. It hadn’t been anything serious, just teasing and posturing from a tipsy asshole. If Maxim had wanted to hurt Otabek, he would have and could have.

Yuri makes a noise and Otabek hears what sounds like bed sheets moving. 

“How’s your grandfather?” he asks.

Yuri allows the subject change. “Happy I’m home. He has someone else to cook for now. I’m going to be too fat to skate when I get back to St. Petersburg,” he groans. 

Otabek laughs lightly, trailing his fingers over his belly where his shirt has ridden up. “I’m not sure you have an ounce of fat on your body.”

“I might by the time I leave here.”

Silence falls between them, easy and comfortable, and Otabek just listens to him breathe for a bit. With his eyes shut, it’s easy to imagine Yuri beside him, like this. His hand drifts lower and he scratches his nails over the trail of hair on his belly, disappearing under the waist of his sweats. He does it again and again, listening to Yuri’s quiet breathing through the speaker, feeling an electric pulse thrum through his belly with each touch.

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. 

“Beka?” Yuri asks, voice quiet, almost drowsy.

“Yeah?” he breathes, stilling his fingers.

“Can you—will you talk to me?” Yuri asks, voice hitching at the end. 

He’s touching himself, Otabek realizes abruptly. And he wants Otabek to speak to him while he does it. _Fuck_. Otabek takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. They haven’t done this, haven’t done anything like this, never even talked about it, but Yuri has started something that Otabek doesn’t want to stop. He wants to be close to Yuri. He wants to give him this.

Resting his palm flat, he asks Yuri, “What do you want me to say?”

“Anything,” Yuri says, his voice still coming out strained, like maybe he’s trying not to let Otabek know what he’s doing, even though he must be aware that he’s being rather obvious. 

“Do you have my hoodie?” he asks. Yuri makes an affirmative sound. “You brought it back to Moscow with you?”

“Yes,” Yuri whispers.

“Can you reach it?”

“’m wearing it,” Yuri tells him. A full-body shudder rolls through Otabek and his cock starts to thicken up against his thigh. 

He keeps his hand on his belly. “Does it smell like me, still?”

Yuri makes a frustrated sound. “Not much, anymore. Miss you,” he gasps, “miss you so much, Beka.”

“I miss you too.” Yuri whines then, too loud for paper-thin apartment walls, and Otabek hushes him. “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you?” Yuri sucks in a strangled breath, like he didn’t expect Otabek to actually acknowledge the fact that he’s touching himself.

“Fuck, Beka,” Yuri gasps. Otabek can almost see him, lying on his back, pajama bottoms pushed down his thighs, his cock flushed and hard in his hand. He closes his eyes and palms himself over his sweats. 

He swallows to wet his throat. “Be quiet for me,” Otabek murmurs. “Don’t need anyone else hearing how you sound.” 

Yuri whispers his name again and he slips his fingers under his waistband. He’s half-hard already, just from listening to Yuri pant into his ear. Otabek grips his cock and strokes himself slowly; he doesn’t want to move to get anything to slick himself with.

“Want you here,” Yuri gasps.

“I know. I want to be there. Wish I could see you.”

“You can—“ Yuri cuts off with a hiccupping hitch in his breathing. “You can. FaceTime me.”

Otabek shakes his head, even though Yuri can’t see it. He doesn’t want the first time they see one another like this to be through a phone screen. 

“Shh,” he murmurs, rubbing his finger over his slit, spreading the precome leaking there. “Like this, Yura.” 

Yuri whines at him. “Don’t you want to—to see me?”

“Of course I do,” he says, feeling the familiar throb of his knot threatening at the base of his dick. He slows his touch, focusing on the head, rubbing his thumb hard up over the ridge, over and over again. He shudders, heels sliding as his legs kick out and his toes spread. “Just this, for now,” he goes on. “Want you to focus on yourself, for me.”

Yuri whimpers and Otabek clenches his eyes shut.

“Are you…”

“Yes,” Otabek confirms, biting down on his lip at the sound Yuri muffles. “Tell me,” he whispers, swallowing against his dry throat, “are you circumcised?”

“No,” Yuri whines, breath hitching again.

Otabek tries and fails to not picture that, Yuri fucking his hand, tugging his foreskin up and down his cock as his fist moves. He thinks how sensitive the head must be, and how badly he wants to find out for himself.

“Fuck,” he whispers, tugging harder at himself. The amount of slick he’s producing is making his hand wet enough that he doesn’t need anything to keep it from hurting. 

“It’s tight,” Yuri breathes, sounding strained, like he’s got his head craned up, looking down his body at his dick. “Pulled back. I can—I can see the head.”

“Oh, fuck, Yuri,” Otabek gasps. “Touch it for me. Are you wet?” Yuri makes a noise of confirmation; it’s only after that that Otabek realizes both of the ways Yuri could be agreeing to. “Spread it with your thumb, all over the head.” Yuri whimpers. “Feel good?”

Yuri’s breath comes, quick and loud, and then there’s a sound like he’s shoving something into his mouth to muffle himself. Otabek listens to Yuri come, gasping and whining, working himself through it. His knot throbs at the base of his cock, swelling up a bit without him touching it. He strokes himself hard, listening to Yuri’s quiet, hitching gasps as he comes down, barely managing to shove his sweats down far enough before he comes all over them.

The relief that he’s managed an orgasm without knotting entirely is quickly overwhelmed by the knowledge that he’s just had an orgasm with Yuri. 

He’s got come drying on his belly and he quickly sits up to strip off his shirt, using it to wipe his belly and hand off. Yuri is still breathing heavily into the phone when he tosses it aside.

“Yurochka?” he asks, voice sounding tentative, even to his own ears.

“Hmm?” Yuri hums at him. “Did you come?”

Otabek laughs, standing to tug his sweats up one-handed, and heading into the bathroom to wash his hands. “Yeah, I did. How could I not, listening to you?”

Yuri lets out a contented sound and then promptly follows it up with a yawn. “Good,” he says around the end of it.

“So you’re one to fall asleep right after?” Otabek asks, teasingly.

“No,” Yuri grumbles. “I’m just tired.”

Otabek dries his hands and hits the light on his way out. He sets his phone down for a moment to grab a new shirt and tug it on, nudging the one on the floor toward his dirty clothes bag.

“Me too. Relaxed now, though.”

“Talk to me until I fall asleep,” Yuri says more than asks. 

Otabek gets under his blankets and settles down against his pillows. He tells Yuri about his last skating session with Aly, barely getting to the part where she’d almost knocked him over when she’d taken a fall before he hears Yuri’s breathing coming deep and even.

“Goodnight, Yura,” he whispers before ending the call. He plugs his phone in and pulls his covers up. He doesn’t let himself overthink what he and Yuri have done tonight. He also doesn’t let himself think about what Maxim had said to him. He doesn’t let himself think about how hard he’s falling for Yuri, so quickly.

 

\--

 

Otabek is taking advantage of a lull in his skating session to respond to Jasna’s snapchat when Yuri texts him. He sends the snap of him with the dog filter, because it’s Jasna’s go-to favorite, before he switches over.

> (12:45pm): Busy?

_Never for you._

> (12:46pm): FaceTime me Romeo

It makes him flush a bit, after their phone call last night, but he’s still biting down on a grin as he calls Yuri. There’s something like excitement in his belly that makes his hands shake as he holds his phone up. Yuri doesn’t say anything right away, just sort of blinks at him, and Otabek thinks maybe the connection is frozen on his end.

Yuri shakes himself out of it and Otabek can’t resist teasing him about having his hair pushed back. 

He looks pretty, for lack of a better word, sitting on his bed in a t-shirt that’s big enough that the neck of it exposes almost his entire shoulder and most of his collarbone. Otabek focuses on that, thinks about what it’d be like to bite him there, _really_ bite him, leave his mark in an exchange of mating bites. He shakes his head a little to clear his thoughts.

Behind him, a girl he sometimes shares rink time with skates by and calls out.

“Your boyfriend’s cute!” 

Otabek laughs and yells back, over his shoulder, “Get your own, Anna!”

Yuri is angry with him, when he turns back, offering to hang up, and Otabek frowns at him. His face is flushed and his mouth is turned down at the sides. He looks almost embarrassed and Otabek isn’t sure why. He doesn’t want to see that expression on him, especially not after what they’d shared last night. He doesn’t want his affection to be doubted.

“Yurochka,” he says, voice slipping into something low and trilling. 

The effect on Yuri is instant, his face smoothing out, lips parting, a slightly glazed look coming over his eyes. He recognizes it, even though it hadn’t been his intention. He nearly panics at having used any sort of alpha influence over Yuri. But Yuri just blinks at him, clearing his gaze and forgiving him for it at once. Otabek’s knees are shaking and he has to lean forward to brace his elbows on the boards to keep himself upright. 

Fuck, how does anyone learn how to do this? He’s going to end up having to buy a fucking book about it or something.

The conversation is almost lost to him until Yuri tells him that he’s told his grandfather about the two of them; that he wants to meet Otabek. His heart rate increases for another reason entirely, then. He can hardly believe it. He’s excited at the prospect of meeting Yuri’s Grandpa, of being reunited with Yuri, of breathing in his scent, fresh off of Yuri himself and not from his jacket. His mind is already reeling with too many thoughts to keep straight. He has so much to do and plan, and Yuri is waiting for him. 

Otabek is suddenly so certain that he’s ready for this that it feels like a physical weight in his chest. They can navigate this, together. He thinks they’ve both done enough waiting.

 

\--

 

When he leaves the rink, Otabek heads home and spreads out on his stomach with his laptop in front of him. He’d spent the remainder of his skating session with his mind on Yuri and how long he can make his visit last. It’s been a while since he’s been to Russia for anything that didn’t involve skating and he doesn’t know what he and Yuri will be able to do together. He browses St. Petersburg tourist websites and looks up festivals that are taking place soon, before he remembers that he’s going to Moscow.

He keeps the tabs open anyway, as he looks at flight prices. Yuri seems to like St. Petersburg more than Moscow, even if it’s where his Grandpa lives. Yuri lives and trains in St. Petersburg, Nikiforov and Katsuki are there (and that’s important, whether or not Yuri wants to admit it), and his cat is likely still there. He can’t imagine that Moscow is where he’ll want to spend his entire break.

An idea is starting to form, and he thinks Yuri is going to be on board with it. A check of his savings account leads him to looking into apartments and bookmarking a few of them. Flura leaps up onto the bed and lies down beside him; he leans over to kiss the top of her head and she licks his jaw. He looks up the cost of bringing his cat with him on a plane.

He knows he’s jumping the gun a bit, but he thinks he can get Nikiforov to look at an apartment or two for him. All he has to do is bring the idea up to Yuri and hope that he’s as into it as Otabek thinks he will be. Otabek scoops his cat up and bundles her against his chest, listening to her loud complaints at the handling, though she starts purring as soon as she quiets down. 

He holds her there and tells her, “A summer in St. Petersburg, with Yuri. What do you think, girl?” Flura just kneads her claws into his chest and he winces. “You’ll have to play nice with his cat, you know,” Otabek goes on, scratching at the back of her neck. “If you love me, you will.” She yawns.

He rolls off the bed and grabs his phone, padding into the kitchen to make himself some lunch. Flura follows on his heels like the little beggar she is. He dials Yuri’s number as he goes.


	3. Chapter 3

“Come on, girl,” Otabek says, his voice quiet. He’s on his knees on the floor of the apartment he’d rented on Airbnb, trying to coax Flura out of her carrier. She’d taken the flight seemingly in stride, riding along quietly with him, but now she’s staring at him, hunched up at the back of the carrier, with wide, scared eyes. 

He snaps his fingers, which usually has her running to his side. “Come here, beautiful,” he murmurs. He doesn’t want to reach in for her, because he thinks he’s likely to get his hand mauled off if he does, but she’s freaking him out. He doesn’t want to just leave her in there, and short of turning the carrier on end and dumping her out, he doesn’t know what else to do. 

The apartment’s scent is neutral, belonging to a beta, but it still doesn’t smell like home; he’s sure that isn’t doing anything to help her relax. He sits on the floor with a sigh, deciding to wait her out. His phone buzzes on the coffee table and he leans over to grab it.

> (9:49am): I’m almost there. Couldn’t leave any earlier Grandpa’s on to me

_You didn’t tell him you were coming here?_

> (9:50am): I couldn’t wait to see you. He doesn’t get it.

Otabek rolls his lips inward and bites down on them to keep from smiling at his phone like an idiot.

_Door’s unlocked._

He pushes himself to his feet to flip the deadbolt before he comes back to where Flura is still curled up in her carrier. She likes Yuri; maybe she’ll come out to see him when he gets here. He sighs.

“Gonna make me look bad, girl.”

She just continues to glare at him.

Otabek hears Yuri coming up the stairs like a herd of elephants, which is a feat, considering he weighs next to nothing. The door slams open and Yuri is suddenly right there, staring at him in the open doorway. Neither of them moves for a moment before Yuri finally breaks their gaze and steps inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

“Why are you on the floor?” he asks as Otabek pushes himself to his feet. Yuri quickly crosses the distance between the two of them.

“Flura’s emotionally scarred by the flight,” he says, gesturing down at the carrier even as he folds his other arm around Yuri’s waist, pulling him close. “Hi,” he murmurs, tilting his head to the side.

Yuri’s arms wrap around his shoulders and he leans up on his toes, pressing their mouths together. Otabek tightens his grip and pulls him closer, reaching up to cup the back of his head with his other hand. The kiss is chaste and hard, lingering for a long moment. Then Yuri’s turning his head to the side and kissing him again, lips parting and tongue pressing into his mouth. Otabek follows his lead, kissing him back, sucking at Yuri’s tongue, fingers tightening in his hair. Yuri whimpers and kisses him harder.

It goes on and on, Yuri’s mouth firm on his, lips slick and pressing against his teeth. He tastes like peppermint and something uniquely _Yuri_ underneath it. Otabek lets go of his hair and runs both hands over his back, feeling the bumps of his shoulder blades under his palms, running down the ridge of his spine to his tapered waist. He’s as thin as ever, but warm and perfect where he’s pressed against Otabek’s body. 

The kiss breaks abruptly when Flura meows loudly at their feet. Yuri jumps, bumping his nose with his own, and they both huff out a laugh as they look at each other.

“Hi,” Yuri says belatedly, his voice low and a little raspy. Otabek is reminded of the night when they’d listened to one another jerking off; he thinks his cheeks would probably go a little red if he wasn’t sure that they already are.

He licks his lips and Yuri’s eyes dart to his mouth, before he leans in to kiss Otabek again, slender fingers touching at his jaw. Flura meows again and then Yuri hisses, jerking away from him. Flura has attached herself to his leg and is blinking owlishly up at him.

“Guess I know who the favorite is,” Otabek says as Yuri bends down to scoop her up. She sits in his arms, quiet but seemingly content. Otabek is a little concerned about her, still; ordinarily she’d be purring by now. She purrs more than any other cat he’s ever encountered in his life. 

“She just knows who the cat icon around here is,” Yuri says, rubbing under her jaw. 

Otabek scratches the back of her neck and she preens contentedly under the attention, even if she remains silent while doing so. Yuri is looking at him and smiling when he glances up again. Otabek rubs his knuckles under Yuri’s chin and listens to him sputter indignantly before laughing and taking a step back.

“Idiot,” he says affectionately. 

“You wound me. After I spent five hours next to a crying child on a flight for you.”

Yuri gives him a faux sympathetic look before he turns his nose up. “Defeated so easily by a long flight, Hero?”

Otabek arches a brow at him. “Not so, my little Fairy.”

Yuri’s mouth draws down into an immediate frown and he makes a gagging sound. Flura leaps from his arms and then hops up to sniff around on the nearby couch. She must not like whatever she smells because she leaps onto the coffee table before settling down on a décor magazine.

Otabek takes the opportunity to put his hands on Yuri’s hips and draw him close again. Yuri hums quietly, pressing against him, arms settling over his shoulders, fingers knitting together behind his neck. Their foreheads touch and Otabek’s eyes slide closed as he inhales deeply Yuri’s scent.

“Missed you so much.” 

Yuri’s nose bumps his. “I’m so glad you came.”

Otabek shakes his head slightly. It hardly feels like it’s only been a couple of weeks since he and Yuri have been together. It’s nearly May, and Boston feels like months ago, while the whirlwind that started this feels like a lifetime away. He can’t believe he and Yuri are here, that they’re really doing this. 

Yuri sighs. “My Grandpa thinks I’m skating so we’ve got a while.” He looks coy, a small smile turning the sides of his mouth up. “What do you wanna do until it’s safe for you to come over?”

The thought of meeting Yuri’s Grandfather so soon sets him a little bit on edge; he’s not sure that he’ll ever be ready for that. He clears his throat at the look Yuri is giving him.

“I’m… I’m actually really tired. I didn’t sleep much last night.” He brings his hands up to cup Yuri’s jaw in both hands, pressing a kiss to his mouth to soften the frown forming there. “Couldn’t wait to get here.”

Yuri takes a deep breath and lets it out in a sigh. “Nap?” he asks.

Otabek nods and takes Yuri’s hand, leading him toward the bedroom. He takes his time, pushing his jeans down his hips, while he’s considering if he should get a pair of sweatpants from his luggage. Yuri strips down to his boxer-briefs and t-shirt, then crawls under the covers of the bed, his pale, skinny legs disappearing under the sheets in a flash. Otabek stops with his pants around his knees, staring while Yuri stretches and sends a glare his way.

“You coming?” he asks. 

Otabek kicks off his shoes and tosses his jeans aside. The room is a little chilly, but Yuri is right there, pressing warmly against him the moment he lies down.

“Should we set an alarm?” Otabek asks around a yawn. 

Yuri burrows into his arms, twining their legs together, nudging up under his head. “Already did. Grandpa will know I was here if you come back with me, so I should go before too long.”

Otabek doesn’t want to let him go, not after he’s just gotten him back, but he knows that it’s not for long. Not this time. He lets out a breath that ruffles Yuri’s hair and listens to the contented sounding sigh that follows it. A cold nose presses against his pulse. 

“You smell so good,” Yuri murmurs, voice already going slow and quiet. 

It shouldn’t please Otabek that maybe Yuri isn’t sleeping well without him; he actually kind of hates the part of him that derives any sort of pleasure from that. But he’s sleeping terribly without Yuri as well, so he hopes that that makes up for it a little bit. 

He buries his nose in Yuri’s hair and breathes him in, that soft, sweet omega scent that he’s missed so terribly. That scent that Yuri makes just for him. He almost misses the cat jumping up onto the bed and taking up residence beside Yuri’s head, but she’s purring loudly and it’s hard to miss. 

He falls asleep quickly.

 

\--

 

Otabek comes awake with a start when Yuri groans at his alarm, chiming away on the bedside table. He’s disoriented and blinks rapidly as he pushes himself up in the strange bed. It comes back to him quickly as Yuri silences his phone and rolls onto his back again, stretching until his knuckles bump against the wall. 

He looks up at Otabek, cheeks a little pink and eyes still glazed over with sleep.

“I should go,” he says quietly.

Otabek looks at him for a long, quiet moment, and then lies back down on his side next to him. He gathers Yuri up with his arm and pulls him close. Yuri comes eagerly, scooting close to close the distance, pressing his mouth to Otabek’s pulse.

“When should I come over?” he asks, rubbing between Yuri’s shoulder blades with the ball of his hand. 

Yuri sighs. “Maybe you should just come back with me.”

Otabek would love to, but going back with Yuri, when his Grandpa thinks that he’s been skating, would make them both look bad. Like they’re sneaking around or have something to hide. It’s not the impression he’s trying to make. Especially not when they’ve made it this far and Yuri’s Grandpa is willing to give him a chance. 

Otabek’s silence must be enough of an answer because Yuri sighs again and leans back to look at him. He lifts a warm hand and presses it to Otabek’s cheek, thumb scraping audibly against his stubble.

He thinks maybe he’s not supposed to hear Yuri when he murmurs, “Can’t believe you’re actually here.”

Otabek takes his wrist and draws his hand down, pressing a kiss to his palm. 

“We should talk,” he says quietly. “Before we see your Grandpa, I mean.”

Yuri rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Being sure we both understand what we’re doing,” Otabek says.

“I accepted what I am long before you came back into my life,” Yuri says, looking him in the eye. “Just because I’ve never wanted to be with anyone before now, or be close to an alpha, doesn’t mean that I don’t know what I want.” He’s still lying on his back with Otabek on his side, gazing down at him; it makes him somehow even more vulnerable, makes the moment all the more intimate for how much Yuri is trusting him. “You make me happy, Beka. You make me happy that I presented omega because of how close it means we can be.”

Yuri’s eyes flutter closed when Otabek leans over him and brushes a thumb over his brow. Otabek follows the touch with a kiss, then another on the bridge of his nose. He kisses Yuri’s mouth chastely, letting it linger. 

“You have to tell me if I do something wrong,” Otabek murmurs. 

Yuri’s eyes open slowly and regard him carefully. His lashes are thick and pale and Otabek wants to kiss his eyelids.

“Have you been with an omega before?” Yuri asks. 

Otabek shakes his head. “I’ve only ever known one other omega, aside from my mother and you.”

Yuri blinks at him. “You never told me your mother’s an omega.”

His brow furrows. “I didn’t?” He feels like he must have, although he and Yuri haven’t spoken much of their families to each other. Especially not in the aftermath of Otabek’s presentation when they’ve been so concerned with merely finding ways to be close again.

“No,” Yuri says, though he doesn’t look upset. “Was your father an alpha, too?”

Otabek nods, swallowing to wet his suddenly dry throat. He rarely speaks of his father to anyone, the subject too painful. 

“He died,” Otabek finds himself saying, voice quiet. “When my sister was still a baby.”

Yuri reaches for his hand and flattens it against his chest, over the steady thump of his heart. He lets the subject drop and Otabek is grateful. They’ve gone off the topic he’d wanted to address and he feels oddly out of his depth, even though it’s his own father they’re speaking about.

“I don’t know any other omegas, either,” Yuri says. “Viktor’s the only other alpha I’ve ever let near me and I don’t care what I’m _supposed_ to find right and wrong. I’ll tell you if you fuck up or make me uncomfortable or whatever, but I don’t think you will.”

“I hope I never do,” Otabek tells him, digging his fingers into Yuri’s chest a bit.

Yuri rubs at his forearm with one hand. “You haven’t yet. Came close in the beginning by ignoring me, but no harm done.”

Otabek groans and buries his face in the pillow over Yuri’s shoulder. There’s a light laugh in his ear and two thin arms go around his shoulders. He pulls Yuri onto his side and kisses him. 

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” he says, feeling the clarification is needed.

Yuri turns up his nose at him. “Were too.” Otabek flicks his nose with his finger and Yuri bats at him with both hands.

Another alarm chimes from his phone, startling them both. Yuri twists to turn it off, taking most of the blankets with him and Otabek is struck with the chill of the room. He gets up to tug on his jeans. Yuri has to go and Otabek is going to sleep until he can come meet him at his apartment, but he’s going to walk him to the door, first. 

Yuri dresses himself, covering up his bony knees, and tucks his phone into his pocket. Otabek leads the way back into the living room.

“I’ll send you my address,” he says as he stuffs his feet into his boots; they’re ridiculous leopard print things that Otabek doesn’t question the existence of. “Come over around six. Grandpa is making dinner.”

Otabek ignores the twist of anxiety in his belly and nods. He can’t wait for this meeting with Yuri’s Grandpa to be over so he can stop fretting about it.

“Is there anything he’s going to ask me that I should know about in advance?” Otabek asks. He doesn’t know what this interrogation is going to be like, but he’d be happier going into it as prepared as possible.

Yuri zips up his hoodie and looks at him through the fringe of his hair. Otabek reaches over and tucks it back behind his ear, watching as Yuri regards him carefully, licking his bottom lip like he does when he’s thinking.

Finally, Yuri takes a breath and glances to the side where Flura is approaching the two of them. “He might bring up my dad,” he says quietly.

“Okay,” Otabek says, waiting for him to continue. He hasn’t seen Yuri this subdued since the airport in St. Petersburg.

“My dad…” Yuri cuts himself off and takes a shaky inhale. “My dad was an alpha. And an asshole. He wasn’t good to me or my mom. I’m sure my Grandpa thinks that’s where my aversion to alphas started, and maybe it was, but…” he shakes his head.

Otabek puts his hands on Yuri’s shoulders, drawing his gaze up again. “I can tell him that you want to tell me later, if he mentions it.”

Yuri’s gaze goes a little misty before he blinks and clears his throat. “Thanks. I will. Later, I mean. I’ll tell you.”

Otabek just leans in to kiss him, soft and slow and deep. Yuri arches into him and it feels so good to have him there, solid and small and warm. He strokes Yuri’s hair with both hands and kisses his forehead. 

“I’ll see you soon.”

Yuri nods and leans down to pet the cat for a moment. He looks over his shoulder on his way out the door. “Don’t be late. Grandpa hates that.”

Otabek smiles at him. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

\--

 

Otabek very nearly _is_ late, because he can’t figure out what to wear. He goes through three different outfits, first feeling too formal in a plain white button down and black jeans. Then a black t-shirt under a blue flannel shirt makes him feel like a slob. He shrugs out of the over-shirt and tears off the t-shirt, feeling the first stirrings of panic in his belly. He needs to impress Yuri’s Grandfather and he can’t even pick out a fucking shirt to wear. 

Yuri texts him while he’s panicking, standing in the middle of his scattered clothing, looking down at his suitcase like it’s betrayed him.

> (5:45pm): Let me know when you get here I’ll come out and get you  
> (5:45pm): You close??

“Fuck,” he says, tossing his phone back down on the bed without answering. Flura watches it bounce onto the floor before she looks back at him. “Help me, girl,” he whispers at her. She closes her eyes at him, rather unhelpfully.

His phone buzzes again and he snatches up a dark gray henley and tugs it on. He gives himself a critical once-over in the bathroom mirror, raking his hair back with both hands and heaving a sigh. He thinks he looks good, he only hopes Yuri’s Grandfather thinks he doesn’t look like… a bad influence or something. 

He grabs his phone and his jacket off the couch as he passes, shoving his feet into his boots and bending to lace them hurriedly.

_On my way._ he shoots back.

> (5:48pm): Beka you haven’t left yet?!

His phone’s gps says he’s only a ten minute walk away.

_I’m coming Yuri I won’t be late._

> (5:49pm): Better not be

Otabek doesn’t exactly run, but it’s a near thing.

Yuri is outside when he arrives, sitting on the steps to his building, with his skinny legs bent close to his chest, wearing a black hoodie with leopard print sleeves. He’s staring at his phone, like he’s watching the time, and stands to shove it in his back pocket as Otabek approaches. He folds his arms against his chest and does his best impression of an incredibly unimpressed parent.

“Not late,” Otabek says, holding his phone that shows one minute to spare.

Yuri rolls his eyes and huffs, sending his hair fluttering. He can see both of Yuri’s eyes for a brief moment. Otabek reaches out with both hands and pushes his hair away before he kisses him, clammy palms holding his jaw. With Yuri standing on the bottom step, he’s the same height as Otabek.

Yuri looks at him with both arms around his neck. “You’re getting taller,” he says.

“So are you,” Otabek points out.

Yuri pouts his bottom lip a bit. “Not like you are. You’re… big.” He claps Otabek on his shoulders before he lets go of him and tucks his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Really big.”

“Shush, you,” Otabek says, feeling his cheeks flush pleasantly. He doesn’t know if he should encourage the alpha part of his brain that really likes being bigger than Yuri. Although Yuri doesn’t seem to mind it.

He’s up two more steps before he turns to Otabek and holds out his hand. “Come on,” he says, flexing his fingers in a grabby motion. 

Otabek takes his hand and lets Yuri lead him in.

The apartment is small and sparsely decorated, but it’s bright and smells mouthwateringly good. He slips out of his jacket and Yuri takes it from him to hang it up. Otabek feels so nervous, all of a sudden, it’s like he’s never performed on a world stage before, in front of thousands of people and judges, broadcast on television. He swallows around the lump forming in the back of his throat. 

Yuri elbows him and takes his hand. “Relax,” he whispers, “my Grandpa is nice.”

“I’m sure he is,” Otabek murmurs back. Although Yuri has never seen his Grandpa react to an alpha coming to him for approval to date his grandson before. He takes a steadying breath and lets it out slowly.

Yuri lets go of his fingers with a squeeze just before a man, a whole head taller than Yuri, comes out of the kitchen, carrying a covered pan with potholders on both hands. He doesn’t look at Otabek until he’s put it down on the table, already loaded up with food. 

He eyes Otabek, who feels increasingly uncomfortable, standing up too straight, unsure of what to do with his hands, and questioning his choice in shirt when Yuri’s Grandpa looks him over critically. He swallows and holds out his hand, trying to keep it from shaking. 

“Grandpa, this is Otabek. Altin,” Yuri says, adding his last name like an afterthought. 

Grandpa takes his hand in a bone-crushing grip and shakes it firmly. 

“Hope you’re hungry,” he says, letting go and heading back into the kitchen without so much as a backward glance.

Otabek shoots a look to Yuri, who rolls his eyes at his Grandpa’s retreating back and follows him into the kitchen. Otabek stays where he is, feeling awkward and a little frantic at the casual dismissal. He tries to remind himself that Yuri’s Grandpa is just protective, and he has a plethora of reasons to be. Yuri has been raised by his Grandfather, protected by him, and sacrificed endlessly for. Otabek still doesn’t know anything about Yuri’s mother, besides the fact that she’s alive, but Yuri has never lived with her. He feels suddenly lost in the depth of what he _doesn’t_ know about Yuri yet. All of the things he so badly wants to find out. 

He can hear the rush of heated conversation, mostly Yuri’s hurried voice, but Otabek steps away from the kitchen so he doesn’t overhear. He clasps his hands at the small of his back and glances over the shelves of books along the wall, one on either side of the television. There are several pictures of Yuri, very young but still unmistakable, framed among the books. He’s skating in most of them, looking less sullen than he does on the ice now, but still as serious as ever, his blonde hair even lighter. 

There’s a picture of him of him perched on his Grandpa’s shoulders, probably six or seven years old, holding his hands up and laughing. His Grandpa’s serious face has a small smile on it; he looks proud. Otabek squints and sure enough, he can see the ribbon of a medal around Yuri’s neck, the medal itself lost behind his Grandpa’s head.

Shuffling behind him has him turning back around. Yuri’s Grandpa is closer than he’d realized and Otabek almost takes a step back. 

“He’d won his first real competition that day,” his Grandpa says gruffly. 

“You look proud,” Otabek tells him, nodding slightly at the picture.

“Yura always makes me proud.”

“Grandpa,” Yuri says quietly, sounding a little embarrassed. When Otabek turns to him, he’s looking at the ground. 

“You were cute,” Otabek tells him, grinning when Yuri’s cheeks go pink.

Yuri’s Grandfather looks between the two of them and sighs, muttering something under his breath that Otabek only catches the word _already_ from. Then, louder, “Let’s eat.”

Otabek doesn’t say much during dinner, and Yuri’s Grandpa is mostly silent as well. He thinks, from the glares Yuri keeps shooting at his Grandfather, that he’s not usually so quiet. All it makes him think is that the interrogation that’s coming won’t happen until after they’ve eaten. 

It’s a delicious meal, more than Otabek has really eaten in a long, long time. He sticks to his diet, fairly strictly, even when he’s not training for a competition. Yuri’s Grandpa has made a heavy meal that makes him feel sleepy and a bit sluggish, by the time he pushes back from the table. He picks up his plate but Yuri’s Grandpa takes it from him and hands it to Yuri.

“Yurochka can handle the cleanup. You come with me,” he says, already heading into the living room.

Yuri shoots him a panicked look. “Grandpa—“ he starts.

“Now, Yuri,” his Grandpa cuts him off. “Otabek,” he calls.

Yuri widens his eyes at Otabek before leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Just… be you. He’ll like you, I promise,” Yuri says quietly. 

Otabek nods stiffly and moves away from the table as Yuri starts to stack up their plates. 

Yuri’s Grandpa is sitting in a comfortable looking armchair, leaving Otabek to take the couch, giving him an awkward angle. He has to sit turned toward the armrest, facing Yuri’s Grandfather and the array of religious iconography behind him. He’s certain this was a conscious decision on Yuri’s Grandfather’s part.

“Now,” he says, sitting back in his chair, “you may call me Nikolai and stop looking like you’re going to be sick all over my floor.”

Otabek laughs without meaning to, but Yuri’s Grandpa—or Nikolai, now—smiles slightly at him. “Yes, sir,” Otabek says with a nod.

Nikolai arches an eyebrow at him but doesn’t force a correction. “Yuri tells me you hadn’t presented yet, when you two met in Barcelona.”

“No, sir,” Otabek says with a shake of his head. “I thought I was a beta.”

“Weren’t you tested?”

“Yes, once when I was seventeen and again when I turned eighteen.” Otabek shifts his weight to his other side, trying to ignore the Virgin Mary looking down at him from over Nikolai’s shoulder. “The results were inconclusive both times. My doctor told me I could only be a beta, at that point.”

Nikolai hums at him, tapping his fingers on the armrests of his chair. “And it was Yuri’s scent that caused you to present?” Otabek feels like his face is going to go up in flames. He nods. “Speak up, boy.”

“Yes, sir,” Otabek says, rubbing his hands against his thighs. He doesn’t feel brave enough to offer anything further. Especially not since he went into rut directly afterward. 

Nikolai does him a kindness by not mentioning anything more about his presentation. They all know what it involves, though neither Yuri nor his Grandpa knows the extent of it, how awful and embarrassing and painful it is. Otabek doesn’t think he could talk about it and still look Nikolai in the face.

“Yuri likes you,” Nikolai says evenly and Otabek meets his gaze. “Yuri doesn’t trust hardly anyone and it makes me wary that he trusts you so easily.”

“I would never hurt him,” Otabek says, even though he doesn’t think that Nikolai is quite finished. “I care about him. I did before I knew he was an omega and before I presented. I feel closer to him, now, and I know it’s partly our second nature making it so much _more_ but—“

Nikolai holds up his hand and Otabek goes silent. Yuri drops something in the kitchen and it makes him jump. 

“I may not be an alpha or an omega, but I know how it works. I know the connection deepens,” he says. 

Otabek shakes his head; he can’t be misunderstood here. “Sir, please. I hoped for more before this happened. How I feel for Yuri is genuine. I couldn’t smell him on blockers and he had no way of knowing what I am either.”

“You know, betas may not be much for discerning emotion and intention from scent, but my bullshit detection is fantastic, from raising a teenager,” Nikolai says. Otabek bites the inside of his lip; he hears Yuri scoff in the kitchen. “I know a connection has to exist in order to deepen. Yuri tells me that he trusts you, I believe him. You tell me you care for him, I believe you.” Otabek feels like he could collapse on the floor. “Now, I’m telling you, boy,” Nikolai says, his voice getting lower and more serious as he points his finger at Otabek, “that boy is everything to me. I’ve given everything to raise him and see him succeed, and I won’t let you or anyone else hold him back. If I think for a second that you stop being good for him, or to him, I’ll make sure your dick never knots again. Understood?”

“Perfectly,” Otabek says, nodding, eyes a little bit wide. 

“Good,” Nikolai says, leaning further back into his chair, visibly relaxing. “Now someone can stop eavesdropping from the kitchen and bring us tea.”

Yuri comes in a moment later carrying a tea tray, looking less than amused as he levels his gaze on his Grandpa. “You’re an awful old man,” Yuri grumbles. 

“Quiet or you can wash dishes on your own,” Nikolai says, accepting the teacup Yuri holds out to him.

Yuri drops down beside him on the couch, sitting close enough for their thighs to touch, and Otabek hands him a cup from the tray before taking the last one for himself. He hears Nikolai hum approvingly. Yuri reaches for a cookie from the plate he’s arranged on the tea tray and dunks it in his tea. Otabek can feel his face scrunch up.

“Be quiet,” Yuri says before Otabek has a chance to speak. He leans in and presses a kiss to Otabek’s cheek before he takes a bite of his sodden cookie.

Nikolai has his eyes rolled heavenward when Otabek looks back at him. “Help me,” he says, seemingly to no one, before he turns his gaze on Otabek again. “Tell me about your family, my boy.”

Yuri’s knee nudges his thigh. Otabek takes a sip of his tea before leaning forward to set it on the tray again; he couldn’t possibly eat anything more, at the moment. He settles in with a hand on Yuri’s thigh and begins talking.

 

\--

 

At the end of the night, once Yuri has washed the dishes and Otabek has dried them, he shakes Nikolai’s hand and thanks him for a nice evening. And it had been nice. He’s pleased with how everything has turned out, except for the part where he’s lacing up his boots while Yuri stands miserably in front of him, hands jammed in the pockets of his hoodie.

“He likes you,” Yuri says, once Otabek has straightened up again.

He takes his jacket from Yuri and pulls it on, righting the collar where it’s turned inward. 

“You don’t look happy about that fact,” Otabek says, aiming for teasing.

Yuri scowls at him. “That’s not it and you know it.”

He takes Yuri by his narrow waist and pulls him in until their chests touch and Yuri settles his arms over his shoulders. “I know,” he murmurs, dipping his head to kiss him slow and deep. 

“That’s enough of that,” Nikolai says from entirely too close by.

They jerk out of the kiss, but Otabek doesn’t let go of him until Yuri steps back.

“Grandpa,” he says, “don’t meddle.”

“I’ll meddle all I want when it’s the two of you standing in my doorway,” Nikolai says, pointing between them. 

“Just give me a second to say goodnight,” Yuri grumbles through gritted teeth. Nikolai swats him gently across the back of his head, but Yuri still mutters a quiet, “ow.”

“What are the two of you saying goodnight here for?” he asks, moving to head into the kitchen. “I’d figured you two would want to do that wherever it is you’re staying.”

The refrigerator opens and closes, followed by the crack of a can. Otabek looks at him, brow furrowed. He can’t possibly mean what it sounds like. 

Yuri turns to his Grandfather when he appears again, beer in hand. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“Would you rather I tell you to stay here?”

Otabek blinks at Yuri and then turns his shocked gaze on Nikolai. Apparently he does mean what Otabek thought he did. 

“Grandpa… I can stay with Otabek tonight?” Nikolai nods his head once. Yuri throws himself at his Grandpa, who barely manages to get an arm around him without tumbling over. Otabek grabs Yuri around the waist as Nikolai groans about his back and a too-big grandson, and sets him on his feet again. “I’m gonna pack a bag!” he half-shouts, grinning from ear to ear as he practically runs down the hall and throws open a door.

Nikolai stands, hunched over, a hand on the small of his back. “That boy is trying to kill me,” he grumbles. 

“I think he’s just as surprised as I am,” Otabek says, holding out a hand, unsure of what kind of help he’s offering but offering it nonetheless. 

Nikolai waves him off, standing with an audible crack in his back. He groans before looking at Otabek again, the both of them listening to Yuri crash around his room. 

“All I can say is don’t make me regret it,” Nikolai says.

“I wouldn’t,” Otabek promises.

“I mean it.” Nikolai lowers his voice before he goes on. “I don’t know how it goes in Kazakhstan but in Russia hospitals won’t test likelihood of fertility under the age of sixteen. Not even if you ask them to.”

Otabek doesn’t think he’s ever blushed so much in his life, as he has this past month and a half. Still, he shakes his head. “I didn’t know. He never said. But there’s nothing to worry about,” Otabek rushes to assure him when he receives an arched eyebrow.

“Not yet,” Nikolai grumbles, taking a drink of his beer. 

Yuri comes bounding down the hall with a backpack over one shoulder and a jacket in hand.

“Jacket on,” his Grandpa orders. Yuri rolls his eyes. “Yura.”

“Fine, fine,” Yuri grumbles, letting Otabek take his backpack from him while he shrugs his jacket on. It also has leopard print on it. 

“Remember what I told you,” Nikolai says, speaking to Yuri now as he pulls his hood free from his jacket. 

“ _Grandpa_ ,” he hisses, his pale skin coloring as easily as it always does. Otabek finds it incredibly endearing, even if he drops his gaze and fiddles with his phone to give them the illusion of privacy for this conversation.

Nikolai gives his grandson a sharp look. “I mean it. We’ll get you tested before you go back to St. Petersburg, but you promise me, for now.” 

Yuri groans. “Okay, yes, Grandpa. Please stop talking.”

Nikolai grumbles under his breath as he hooks an arm around Yuri’s neck, pulling him in for a rough hug. Yuri doesn’t resist at all, going willingly. He stands in his Grandpa’s embrace for a moment, nodding at something he says, before Nikolai lets him go with a ruffle of his hair that ends in him pushing Yuri away by his head. He stumbles and huffs a laugh.

“Thanks, Dedushka,” Yuri says, once he’s standing upright again, his voice quiet and sincere.

Nikolai shoos them off with his free hand. “Go, before I change my mind.”

Otabek fights down a laugh as Yuri rips the door open and tugs him through, by the hand.

“Love you!” Yuri shouts over his shoulder.

“Goodnight, sir!” Otabek calls, waving as the door closes behind them.

Yuri pulls him all the way to the street, stumbling down the building’s front steps onto the sidewalk. Otabek is laughing and a little breathless at how bright Yuri’s smile is as he comes to a stop just off the stoop. Otabek knows he should say something about his Grandfather, but he’s lost, looking at Yuri so happy in front of him.

He pulls him close by the neck and kisses him. “Come on,” Otabek whispers against his mouth, pressing another chaste kiss to his lips. Yuri follows at his side, still holding tight to his hand.

 

\--

 

Having Yuri with him, and knowing that they won’t have to part again for months, is absolutely wonderful. They come back to the apartment, chilled fingers folded together, and collapse in a heap on the couch. Yuri curls up to Otabek, halfway on his lap, and they turn on the television. 

Otabek isn’t really watching, he’s too busy feeling blissed out, running his fingers through Yuri’s hair. The scent Yuri is emitting is almost intoxicatingly strong; he smells content and safe and slightly aroused. Otabek could bury his nose in Yuri’s neck and never move again.

After a while, Yuri lifts his head, nudging his nose at Otabek’s cheek; it’s the easiest thing in the world to turn and kiss him. His lips are soft and he tastes like honey from his tea. Fingers card through his hair and Yuri pulls him down, leaning back on the couch and bringing Otabek with him, as the kiss deepens.

The couch is a wide sectional, with more than enough room for the two of them to sprawl out together. Yuri tries to pull Otabek down on top of him, but he settles to Yuri’s side instead. Yuri lets out an impatient sound against his mouth and sucks on his tongue.

Otabek breaks away from his mouth to kiss down to Yuri’s neck, fastening his lips over his pulse and sucking lightly. Yuri arches with a strangled gasp and turns on his side, hooking his leg over Otabek’s hip. 

“Beka,” he groans, rocking his hips forward. Otabek grasps the hollow of his knee and holds him there, letting Yuri rub up against him. “Kiss me. Come on,” Yuri gasps, tugging hard at his hair, sending sharp little bolts of pain scattering across his scalp.

Otabek crushes his mouth to Yuri’s, their teeth clacking together loudly before they find a way to slot together. Yuri’s tongue is in his mouth and there’s the unmistakable press of an erection against his hip. He clenches his eyes and lets Yuri rock against him, trying to will his own arousal away.

When one of Yuri’s hands drops from his hair to his jaw, to trail down his chest and hook in his belt, Otabek stops kissing him. 

“Don’t. Yura, don’t,” he rasps, pressing their foreheads together.

Yuri’s hand is still. “Why?” he asks, voice low and rough in his throat. He smells overpoweringly sweet, his scent thick with arousal. Otabek wants him so badly.

“I can’t.”

“We don’t have to fuck,” Yuri says, kissing at his parted lips. “Just touch me. Let me touch you.”

Otabek lets out a strangled groan at his words. Yuri licks at his teeth.

“You can’t. I can’t—I won’t be able to stop myself from knotting.” He clenches his eyes shut and tries to breathe as Yuri rubs up against him again, letting out a quiet moan.

“I don’t mind,” Yuri says, nudging their noses together, their lips brushing as he speaks.

Otabek licks his lips and shakes his head. “I can’t. Not here.”

“Please,” Yuri whispers.

“Yura,” Otabek says, letting go of his knee to cup his cheek. “It doesn’t smell like us here. I can’t.”

Yuri’s lower lip trembles and Otabek kisses him, letting go of his head to slide his hand down his back, over his ass, back to his knee. Yuri grips at his hair again, pulling so hard it makes Otabek wince.

“Beka,” he whines. “I just want to come with you.”

“You can,” Otabek murmurs, biting at his bottom lip and tugging at his knee, encouraging Yuri to rub up against him again. 

Yuri’s hips stutter against his for a moment, tightening his grip in his hair as he shakes, whining as he comes apart. He digs the nails of one hand into Otabek’s shoulder and holds on. The smell of his release is sudden and strong, filling Otabek’s nose and making him gasp.

“Yuri,” he murmurs, over and over. He smells so good, so sweet. Like everything Otabek never knew he needed. 

His back stings as much as his scalp does when Yuri goes slack in his arms. Overly hot fingertips brush at his jaw, then touch at his lips; Otabek kisses them, nipping at the pads of his fingers. He’s hard still, but he thinks if he just lies there, it’ll ease up on its own. He knows he’d knot if he touched himself right now, and he wasn’t lying when he told Yuri he couldn’t do it here. The apartment belongs to a beta, as advertised, but their smell is all over and Otabek doesn’t want to leave his own behind. He wants to keep that for Yuri.

“Can’t believe I just came in my jeans,” Yuri grumbles, his forehead hot and sticky with sweat when Otabek kisses it. 

“It was nice.”

Yuri snorts and tips his head back to look him in the eye. His cheeks are flushed with exertion and his pupils are still blown wide. “Would have been nicer if I could have held out for you to get a hand on me.”

“We’ll work up to that,” Otabek says, settling a hand on his hip. Yuri rolls his eyes and then promptly yawns. Otabek laughs. “I knew you were the type to fall asleep right after.”

“Shut up,” Yuri says, drawing his leg back down and stretching. “I need to shower.” 

When he gets up off the couch, Otabek can see where his slick has soaked into the back of his jeans. He swallows around the lump in his throat and tries not to think too hard about that. He breathes out of his mouth as he sits up.

Yuri is eyeing the bulge in his jeans rather ravenously. “You sure I can’t help you with that?” he asks, though he sounds like he knows the answer.

Otabek glances down at himself and leans forward a bit. “Go shower, Yurochka.”

Yuri rolls his eyes and heads into the bedroom, leaving his contented scent drifting behind him.

The moment the shower starts up, Otabek digs the heel of his hand against his dick. He counts to sixty before he’s able to lever himself off the couch and head into the bedroom. He digs out his sweats and a t-shirt to sleep in and then sits on the side of the bed, messing about on his phone until Yuri comes out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel.

Otabek tries not to look at the narrow taper of his waist, the sharp cut of his hips, and the definition of his back muscles. Yuri grabs his pajamas bottoms and tosses his towel onto the bed before tugging them on, giving Otabek a quick glimpse of his ass.

Otabek jerks up off the bed, sweats in hand, and hurries off into the bathroom. Yuri’s laugh follows him as he shuts the door behind him. He showers without touching himself, even though the chill of the water makes his teeth chatter. 

Yuri sits in bed, already under the covers, with a hoodie on and the hood pulled up over his damp hair. He’s playing Neko Atsume when Otabek settles in beside him, but he closes out of the app quickly and sets his phone on the nightstand. Yuri squirms down under the covers and rests his head on Otabek’s lap. He sighs when Otabek cards his fingers through his hair.

“’m so glad you’re here,” Yuri mumbles, his eyes already closed and his breathing slow and even.

Otabek watches him for so long, he’s not sure Yuri is even awake anymore to hear him murmur, “me too.”

 

\--

 

Otabek wakes with a mouthful of Yuri’s hair. He carefully extricates himself from the bed without waking either him or the cat, stretched across the foot of the bed, which is a personal achievement of his. He grabs his phone and pads barefoot out to the kitchen. 

He finds a response to the text he’d sent off last night when he unlocks his phone. Nikiforov’s far too excited for nine-thirty in the morning.

> (9:09am): Yes!!! Yuuri and I will check them out for you! The Griboedova Canal one is not far we can go this afternoon!  
> (9:11am): When will you be coming??

Otabek smiles down at the screen.

_Thank you Viktor. I’m not sure yet. A few days maybe? I’ll ask Yuri when he wakes up._

Nikiforov starts typing again before Otabek has even set his phone down on the counter. The apartment doesn’t have a coffee pot so he heats water for tea instead.

> (9:34am): Okay I’ll let you know about the Canal flat this afternoon! Say hi to Yurio for me ♥♥♥

Otabek texts back a thumbs up emoji and locks his phone. The kettle starts to whistle on the stove and he hurriedly pulls it off, pouring water over teabags into two mugs.

Yuri is still asleep when he settles back down on the bed, but he stirs when the mattress dips. His nose scrunches as he rubs his eyes against the light pouring in through too-thin curtains. He blinks tiredly at Otabek before offering a small smile. 

“Tea?” he asks, holding the mug out. 

Yuri struggles to push himself up and take it from him with a quiet murmur of thanks. He yawns before he takes a sip, then leans his head over to rest on Otabek’s shoulder.

Otabek is relieved that Yuri doesn’t seem at all uncomfortable, that he doesn’t regret what happened between them last night. He presses a kiss to the top of Yuri’s head.

“Sap,” Yuri mutters, but his scent is decidedly pleasant. Content. 

Otabek kisses his head again and Yuri tips his face up and purses his lips. Otabek kisses him chastely and takes a drink of his tea.

“So,” he says, stretching his legs out until he can nudge the cat with his foot. “When do you want to head back to St. Petersburg?”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are very loved and will be fawned over; I appreciate them all so much.
> 
> tumblr user time-limit has a really interesting/informative post on Muslim culture in Kazakhstan: [read it here](http://time-limit.tumblr.com/post/154425255546/since-kazakhstan-is-a-muslim-majority-country-do)


End file.
